Spellbinding
by Kate September
Summary: A new villain stalks the Ancien Quartier of Gotham. A recalcitrant young professor may hold the key to stopping a serial killer. And Batman and Bruce Wayne battle it out for one woman's heart.
1. Chapter 1

Dr. Amy Curtis almost looked like a librarian. She avoided the stereotype narrowly by eschewing thick-framed glasses and opting for contact lenses, a small concession to convenience more than vanity. Glasses bothered her and slipped off her nose, anyway

She was also too impatient to be a librarian. She didn't gladly suffer fools, freshmen and people who didn't know how to parallel park. She avoided meetings like the plague, finding any excuse she could for not having to sit through what she privately termed "useless exercises in watching people stick their thumbs up their asses and like it."

She rarely smiled, observed intently, and was a brilliant enough professor and researcher that the university hierarchy kept forgiving her idiosyncrasies as long as the grants kept flowing in.

Sometimes, the young men in her senior seminar would develop crushes on her, limping away from the mildest flirtation to nurse a new, life-long complex about older women. Male colleagues and graduate students learned that Dr. Curtis was all business, and that you'd get the business end of her sharp tongue if you suggested anything else.

She kept details about her personal life close to her vest. She lived in South Village in Gotham, didn't read the news, and really liked sushi – that was the most that anyone knew about her personally. She had no scruples about broadcasting her opinions, however. She believed in animal rights, disliked reality television, and thought Batman was a vigilante who had some serious psychological issues he was refusing to deal with.

Amy Curtis had a nice, well-ordered life where she could see her future stretching out before her in a line of pleasant routine and enjoyable research.

All of that changed the day she was forced to meet Bruce Wayne.

It had actually been an evening, a party to be exact. Bruce Wayne was throwing a fundraiser for the College of Arts and Sciences of Gotham University. As one of the star faculty, Amy's department head had ordered her to attend on behalf of the Religious Studies department. It wasn't unusual for Amy to be asked to put in an appearance, and she played the game the way the university wanted her to because she knew exactly who buttered her bread.

So, she put on the one black cocktail dress she owned, swiped some Chapstick over her lips and headed on over to the exclusive part of town where Mr. Wayne's penthouse was located.

The concierge admitted her to the building and keyed the elevator to take her to the penthouse. She looked down at her cell phone as the elevator doors slid open. It was 9:00 p.m. She was a little late, but all she had to do was stay about 45 minutes, have a drink and shake hands with Mr. Wayne. She'd be home in time to get a good hour of reading in before bed.

"Welcome, welcome," an elderly Englishman said, coming towards her with a tray of champagne. "And you would be Miss….?"

"Dr. Amy Curtis," she replied, nodding and taking a glass of champagne. "Gotham University, Department of Religious Studies."

"Ah! Well, well, very pleased you could come, doctor. I'm sure Mr. Wayne will be here any moment, and he will wish to meet you."

Amy gave him a look that plainly called the old man on his bullshit, then mockingly raised her glass. To her mild surprise, he chuckled as he walked away.

She sighed and wandered through the crowd, searching out the hors d'oeuvres. The chopping roar of a landing helicopter captured her attention – along with everyone else's – and she turned to see Bruce Wayne step out onto the landing pad, two long-legged, tan, mini-dress wearing beauties on each arm.

She watched disinterestedly as he sashayed in, grinning like a cat who found the cream.

"Well, I'm so glad nobody had any scruples about starting the party without me and drinking my booze," he announced, smiling.

"It was Alfred's doing!" someone yelled out, and the crowd laughed. Amy didn't laugh, as it seemed too much effort to pretend to be amused.

"I just want to thank you all for coming, to support the wonderful institution that is Gotham University," Bruce continued. "Our future depends on the education of our young people, and the College of Arts and Sciences at Gotham U. is one of the places where this critical task is being undertaken. So, even if you flunked out of Gotham, and I know some of you did," – more laughter – "I am asking you all to open your checkbooks tonight and make a generous donation."

Amy nodded her head slightly, as she couldn't applaud with the champagne glass in her hand. The crowd melted again into general movement, and she slid to the side of the room, watching for the right moment to jump in, shake hands and then skedaddle.

Thirty-five minutes more, max. Praise God.

* * *

Bruce Wayne really wanted to enjoy life. He wished he could really be "Bruce Wayne" sometimes, that the demons in him would fall into an endless sleep, that the nightmares would fade forever. He wanted to get a kick out of arriving an hour late at his own party in a helicopter, dripping with models, or driving sports cars, or dining at the finest restaurants wearing the finest suits.

But the nagging sadness would not leave him. His grief was bigger than the death of his parents. He now mourned for the world, for the evil in all men's hearts, for the fact that he could do so little to help.

And truth be told, he couldn't stand the women he dated. It was a chore that he dreaded, and only Alfred's constant reminders kept him from dropping the whole playboy persona. He wanted to be whole – to be either totally Batman, or totally Bruce Wayne, but his path was a highwire between two worlds, a constant tension that was wearing him down.

One of the models – Galiana, or was it Tatiana? Who the hell knew? – shoved a glass of champagne in his hand. He smiled and sipped it, his eyes darting around the room, taking note of every guest he could see. The same faces, the same look of entitlement, the same alcohol-flushed complexions, there was nothing new to see…

…except…

Her. Short, thin and utterly bored. Wearing a department store black cocktail dress. Thick blonde hair twisted into a ropey bun. Wide blue eyes looking around with utter disdain. Full lips slack with disinterest. Pretty but not classically beautiful. Certainly not glamorous. Interesting looking and looking like she could say interesting things.

Decision made.

He began to make his way over to her, noticing that she was actually starting to look sleepy, she was so bored. Just as he came up to her, Alfred appeared at his side.

"Ah, Master Bruce, nice of you to come," he cackled.

Bruce saw the woman's eyes snapped open, and she glanced around for a moment, finally focusing on him.

"May I present Dr. Amy Curtis of Gotham University's Religious Studies Department?" Alfred intoned.

"How do you do, Mr. Wayne?" she said coolly, extending her hand to shake his.

"It's a pleasure, Dr. Curtis," he replied, taking her hand. Soft but cold. He saw goosebumps on her bare arms. She smelled like Johnson's baby lotion. No earrings.

"On behalf of my department, we'd like to thank you for your generous support of the university," she said, as if calmly reciting a well-rehearsed line. "This fundraiser will enable us not only to pursue research that will keep us competitive, but also endow scholarships for underprivileged youth."

Fascinating. She was utterly uninterested in him, in anything around her, it seemed. She shivered slightly, probably from the air conditioning.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"I'm fine, thank you."

It was like hitting a wall.

"Why don't you show Dr. Curtis the view from the balcony?" Alfred chimed in. "It's warmer outside."

Bruce smiled at Alfred. He had forgotten the man was there for a moment. He offered his arm to Amy Curtis, who looked displeased at the proposition but took it anyway. Hundreds of eyes on them as they walked to the balcony. She was stiff on his arm. Murmurs behind them.

The August night was humid but plenty warm. He led her over to the edge of the balcony railing, releasing her arm and leaning on the rail. He ducked his head to look into her eyes and was shocked to find what he saw there.

Fear. Utter, total fear. Borderline panic. Swallowing hard. White knuckles. Staring down into the endless drop down 45 floors to the street.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She coughed a little, as if trying to clear her throat. Words seemed stuck.

"Uh, yes," she said softly but he noted a touch of hoarseness from fear. "I…just…don't like heights."

Fear of heights. Duly noted. Gently, he wrapped his hand around her elbow and pulled her back from the edge, bringing her over to a set of chaises longs set back from the railing. He eased her down onto the seat, then sat down across from her, pleased to note that their knees were almost touching.

She noticed too, as she seemed to come back to herself, and scooted back on the seat away from him.

"So, what does your research focus on?" he asked, fixing her with his gaze.

"Voodoo."

* * *

Amy watched his face as she deliberately used the loaded word. She took a perverse pleasure in watching people's reactions to her research. She knew it was incongruous with how she looked, how people immediately thought of zombies, bad movies and black magic. She was content not to disabuse them of their misperceptions – it would take too much effort on her part. Let them sign up for her class, if they really wanted to know.

Bruce Wayne's reaction was unusual. He nodded slightly and scrutinized her more closely. His gaze was making her uncomfortable, a sensation that was rare and unpleasant for her. She looked away, trying to think of a way out of this tete-a-tete.

"So, do you specialize in Voodoo, Voudon or Hoodoo?"

His question snapped her gaze back to his. She thought her jaw might even have fallen open.

"How do you…" she sputtered, then pulled herself together. "Not many people are aware of the differentiations."

He smiled and shrugged. "I picked up a lot of random knowledge when I traveled."

"I guess you did."

He opened his mouth to say something else, but she saw her chance and jumped in.

"I really shouldn't keep you from your other guests, Mr. Wayne," she said, trying to smile and not really succeeding. She got to her feet. He stood up with her, towering over her, and she noticed just how close he was.

"I'd rather talk with you," he replied, smiling and leaning in a little.

"That's not being a very good host," she said, starting to edge past him. "And besides –"

She stopped cold, a feeling of surreal dread seizing her as her ears picked up the song being sampled by the band that had started to play.

"What's wrong?" Bruce asked, putting his hands on her bare shoulders and pulling her a little closer to him.

Amy stood still for another stunned moment, then promptly disentangled herself and deliberately stepped away from him, eyeing him with mingled fear and distrust.

"I have to go." She turned and walked as fast as she could back inside, toward the elevator. She steeled herself not to look at the musicians, not to hear the words of the song, to listen to the voice that sang it.

"Amy!" Bruce ran after her, catching her at the elevator.

"It's Dr. Curtis, Mr. Wayne," she snapped as the elevator doors opened.

"What's wrong? What did I do? What's going on?"

Amy flicked her gaze to the band, flinching as she saw the singer eyeing her, his rheumy, blue-filmed eyes seeing her even through his blindness. He grinned, yellow teeth against mahogany skin marked with age spots, crowned with a shock of white hair.

"Papa Justify," she whispered, then looked back to Bruce before turning and stepping into the elevator, hugging herself to keep from shaking.

* * *

Bruce watched the elevator doors gently close. He felt like he had been swept up in a five-foot hurricane. Extraordinary.

Extraordinary fear.

Fear of "Papa Justify." He turned and looked at where she had been looking before leaving. The band continued to play what sounded to him like old-time blues. He listened for a moment, noting that the words were a mix of English, French and Creole. The singer looked like a nice old man, almost like Lucius Fox in 20 years.

But something about the group frightened Amy. Not Dr. Curtis. Amy. He'd do some digging, just to see what was going on. And it would give him a reason to see the cold, recalcitrant, paranoid professor again.

* * *

**A/N: First Batfic...please be kind if my "verse" is off. I have chosen to remove Rachel from the picture...and this is set around the time of Batman Begins. You may know me from Phantom of the Opera fics, and I will get back to those, I promise! But, I just saw TDK and rented BB, so I have to get this out of my head...**

**Yours in mischief,**

**Kate September**

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

He stood over the corpse. Cold, blue lips, dead for a while. Eyes open. Fear. Scratch marks along the arms, like he had clawed himself. Black male. Early 30's. Faded blue t-shirt and frayed jeans. No other sign of external violence. No ligature marks, contusions or lacerations.

Small bulge under the t-shirt collar.

Gently, he leaned over and tugged off what appeared to be a burlap sachet tied to a twine necklace.

He wasn't surprised. This was the third one he had found in two weeks. Three dead black men in Gotham's Ancien Quartier. Three identical sachets. Serial killer? Psychopathic signature? It didn't feel right, it didn't seem right. Go with the gut.

Decision made.

It didn't take long to navigate the empty streets of Gotham at three in the morning. He crossed town, absently enjoying the almost silent purr of the car's powerful engine as it slid through the streets. He hid it under an overpass and flowed through the shadows, shinning up the side of the brownstone building til he reached the top window.

Ridiculously easy to break into. No alarm system. Apartment smelled like oregano and garlic. She had been cooking. Books everywhere. Couch, laptop, shoes tossed aside. No plants or pets. Half-empty bottle of wine and single glass on small coffee table in front of couch.

He slipped into the bedroom. The window was half-open. Breeze stirring sheer curtains. Streetlamp light. Shadows on the wall. Small blonde figure sprawled out in bed, taking up almost all the room on the mattress. Open book next to her.

He took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh, just enough noise to make her stir and wake up gently. He watched as she groaned a little and sat up, rubbing her eyes and peering around her. She grew more awake, and he saw the lines of her face draw in as she realized someone was in the bedroom with her.

Small hand slid under pillow. Eyes darting around. Time to ease her worry.

"Don't be afr-"

She launched herself at him, a nasty-looking knife in her hand. He easily grabbed her around the waist and pried the knife out of her hand. But, he hadn't counted on just how much of a fighter she was. She struggled so hard, he was afraid she'd hurt herself. She tried to poke at his eyes until he caught both her hands in one of his. Then, she tried to bite his chin, the only other exposed part of him.

He forced her down onto her bed, pinning her there, his face so close to hers he could still smell the toothpaste on her breath. He saw her eyes go wide with panic at what she thought was going to happen to her. He wanted to reassure her.

They were both breathing heavily. He was suddenly aware of her underneath him, and a rush of unwelcome, unexpected desire choked him. He forced it back with a grimace.

"Don't be afraid," he growled.

He could hear her breath, her fear. She was breathing so hard, she could hardly speak, her lips moving as if she was trying to form words. He hated himself for scaring her. Another innocent, another "victim" of Batman.

"I'm not here to hurt you," he said. "I'll let you go, but you can't scream."

She nodded mutely. Slowly, deliberately, he released her hands and silently pushed himself back off of her, standing at the foot of her bed. He watched as she took a deep calming breath.

If he wasn't such a keen observer, he would have missed the lightning-quick glance at the open bedroom door. In a blur of movement, she grabbed her old-fashioned alarm clock and chucked it at his face, then leapt out of the bed and bolted through the bedroom door toward the apartment door.

It was easy to catch her again, this time pinning her against the wall with his body, his face only an inch from hers. He saw the tears of panic well in her eyes, and he couldn't blame her for being afraid of him. He was a horrible sight - exactly what he was supposed to be to criminals, but the last thing he wanted to be to people like her. The innocents. She was a fighter, he gave her that. In fact, he had not expected anything like the persistent struggle she had put up against him.

She was trembling in his arms, he could feel her shivers against his body, and it took every ounce of self-control not to...to...he didn't even know what he wanted to do.

"I need your help," he whispered. "Three men are dead. You can help me."

Her eyes went wide, and he felt her finally relax in his grasp. Reluctantly, but gently, he released her. This time, she stood still and didn't try to run away from him. He took the pouch and twine from a compartment on his belt and handed it to her.

Amy stared at it and walked over to the window to examine it in the streetlight. Watching her was fascinating, like watching a doctor snap from casual joking to grim life-saving. Coolly, she checked the twine, picked at the knot to see how it was tied to the pouch and then carefully opened up the small sachet.

She emptied the contents onto the window sill, stirring them slightly with her finger. He saw her lips compress into a thin line as she separated all the items out.

"It's a conjure packet, a gris-gris," she said finally. "It's supposed to be a mixture of oils, herbs, stones, bones and other items. Usually, these are made for protection, or good luck, or some other...good...purpose. But this..."

His silence prompted her.

"The items and their combination in this gris-gris are more commonly used for cursing than protecting."

She paused and looked up at him, searching the shadows for his eyes. He let himself focus his gaze on her, drawing himself to her focus without moving.

"Was this...found on the, uh, hmmm, bodies?" she asked somewhat shakily.

"Yes. This is the third one I found."

She frowned slightly and looked down. "Did you open the other packets?"

"No."

"Do you still have them?"

"Yes."

"I'll need to look at them. The contents might be different."

"What will that tell you?"

She drew in a deep breath and bit her lower lip thoughtfully. "I don't know," she answered finally. "But it will tell me something more than I know now."

"Can you tell me anything?"

She reflected, leaning against the window frame. He noticed she wasn't afraid of silence. In fact, she seemed lost in contemplation. Power came from quietude, he remembered Ducard saying that over and over...she was powerful when she had purpose. That was clear. Hopefully, that would be enough to protect her when he couldn't be around.

"I can tell you this," she said. "Gris-gris are usually commissioned by a third party who pays a 'bokor' or Voodoo priest to make up a packet specifically for their purpose. The bokor is a priest who practices both white and black Voodoo, though the black magic part of his practice would probably be secret if he is the community's main priest. Black Voodoo is usually frowned upon, and, in reality, very rarely practiced. 'Bokor' literally means he who serves the gods with both hands. If they do perform black magic for someone, it's usually at a very high price. Traditionally, it involves a vow of service and animal sacrifice - usually a pig."

She thought a moment longer. "The Ancien Quartier is the only place in Gotham that I know of that might even have someone who knows a bokor, a real bokor."

"Could you find a bokor?"

She appeared slightly apprehensive and hesitated. "Yes, I could...I don't really know that I'd want to, though."

"Do you believe in this? That it's real?"

She shrugged. "Even after all my years of research, I honestly...can't make up my mind. Part of me says it only works if you believe it works. Part of me says it's all quackery. Part of me says it's religious symbolism for a nature and ancestor-based worship system. And..."

"And?"

"Part of me has seen shit that I would never have believed had I not witnessed it myself. I respect the power of the practice, and I suggest you do, too."

He almost smiled. In those few moments, she had forgotten her fear of him and had lectured him like a first-year student.

"I'll keep that in mind."

He turned to leave, his movement arrested by an unexpected hand on his arm.

"Aren't you going to tell me anything more?" she asked, eyeing him keenly, but still warily.

"No."

"Why not?"

"For your own good."

Her snort lifted the hairs on the back of his neck.

"I'll be back," he growled as he swung himself out the window. He could have sworn he heard her voice snarl something like, "Knock, next time, will you?"

Safely out of sight, he allowed himself to smile for a moment. Batman didn't knock. But, Bruce Wayne did.


	3. Chapter 3

Amy sat at her desk in her office, staring blankly at her computer

Amy sat at her desk in her office, staring blankly at her computer. It wasn't really like her to be so absent-minded, but then again, she didn't usually have caped intruders in her apartment at 3:00 a.m.

She had come in, as usual, at 8:00, coffee in hand and full of purpose. She was going to try and find out more about the three dead men in the Ancien Quartier. She was also going to try and figure out more about this Batman person. She couldn't quite make up her mind about the whole visit he had paid her.

Part of her was still frightened, especially at the thought that he could enter her apartment so easily…well, at least she would change that. Mr. Midnight Caller would find a nice little noisy booby trap for him at the windows next time! Part of her was shocked that she had so easily slipped into a kind of collaboration with the man. It was as if he had hypnotized her, and she had unquestioningly assumed that everything he was saying was right. What if he had killed the men and was trying to use her as a cover? It was possible.

And part of her was utterly intrigued by what he had presented her with: a genuine mystery. Her very own little game to play. She realized that he probably hadn't meant it that way, but done was done. She had to admit that she was hooked on trying to figure out more about these three murders.

The one thing she refused to even think about was how he had…no, she wasn't going to even think about thinking about it. She sighed and went back to searching the last three weeks of the "Gotham Daily News" for mention of the murders.

She stretched out at her desk and yawned, rubbing her neck and sighing again.

"Tired?"

The jolt of adrenaline through her system was actually painful as she looked up and saw Bruce Wayne standing in the door of her office.

He had been watching her for a full minute before he walked in. Sleepy. Circles under her eyes. Slight frown. Coffee cup to one side – from Delbuono's across the street from the department building. Office was neat. Books all over the walls. Two piles of paper on the desk. Stretching.

"Mr. Wayne!"

* * *

"Please, call me Bruce," he replied, adding his most winning smile and stepping into her office.

"What are you doing here?" He noted that her tone was more puzzled than hostile, though her manner was still wary.

"I just was in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop in to see how you were doing. You seemed a little upset when you left the party the other night, and I wanted to make sure I hadn't done anything."

She blushed. The red didn't rise up her neck like with most people. It burned in two spots on her cheeks instead. Quickened breath. Getting ready to lie.

"No, no, Mr. Wayne-"

"Bruce."

"It wasn't you at all, and I'm sorry if you got that impression." Cold. Guarded. Formal. Didn't use his name. Didn't lie, but only telling half the story.

"What was it then?"

Hesitation. Calculating how much to say. Careful speaker.

"The, uh, band, was playing a song that…well, they probably didn't know where it actually came from, but it's not a very nice song at all."

He raised his eyebrows, surprised that she had come so close to telling him what she was really thinking. He had been sure she would dissemble or outright lie. This was an interesting twist in Amy Curtis' character, and he made a note of it.

"What do you mean?"

"It's an old Voodoo song, and the one recording of it that exists is sung by a bo…a priest by the name of Papa Justify. The recording is from the 1920's. It's not very well known. I guess I was just surprised to hear it."

Ah, there was the lie. She wasn't surprised. She had been outright frightened. Didn't like admitting weakness. Well, he could understand that if anyone could.

He smiled at her and nodded, pretending to accept her explanation and filing away the tidbit about Papa Justify. A Papa Justify Voodoo song at his party, then another man dead in the Ancien Quartier? That was too much coincidence for him. He'd work on it later. Now, he wanted to work on something much more pleasant.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that I'm in the clear," he chuckled.

"Did I say that?" she riposted coolly with a completely straight face.

He shouted with laughter and brought forward a package he had been holding. He handed it to her.

"Well, just in case, I brought a peace offering," he said.

She unwrapped the package to reveal a first edition of William Faulkner's "Absalom, Absalom!" She looked up at him in total surprise.

"I…this is…I can't take this, Mr. Wayne," she sputtered. "It's too nice!"

"I figured you weren't a flower person."

"Should I be insulted by that?"

"Actually, I'm relieved by it. It gives me more scope for creativity."

She frowned slightly, and he saw that she had picked up on his implication that he was planning on continuing their acquaintance, and on continuing to give her gifts.

"Well…thank you. This is a lovely gift. William Faulkner is one of my favorite authors."

"I figured he might be – after all, Southern Gothic and Voodoo kind of go together. Kind of like noontime and lunch, which is where I propose to take you now."

She started and looked at the clock on her computer. He could almost see the wheels spinning in her head as she tried to figure out a way to worm out of going to lunch with him.

"I was thinking of going to Oshinu," he drawled, dropping the name of the exclusive new sushi restaurant that was impossible to get into and even more impossible to afford. He saw her eyes widen and knew he had hit close to home. "I hear their salmon is the freshest on the East Coast. Like butter. Also, I think they have Chutoro on the menu today."

Game, set and match.

"I'm sorry, but I really can't."

Fault!

* * *

He seemed taken aback at her answer, and she had to admit that she was practically salivating at the mention of Oshinu. But, it wasn't worth the price of having to spend time with Bruce Wayne.

"Well, you have to eat lunch, don't you?" he asked, clearly not willing to give up.

"I brought a sandwich with me, and I'd hate to waste it," she replied coolly, now fully in control of herself again. "Besides, I'm working on a project for a friend, and it's kind of urgent."

He gave her an odd look, and she ducked her head back to the computer screen, pretending to scroll through email.

"A raincheck, then?" he said softly.

She looked up. "Sometime, yes."

"Soon."

"Thank you again for coming by, Mr. Wayne, and for the gift."

He smiled slightly, as if sharing an amusing secret with himself. "See you soon, Amy," he said as he strode out the door.

She added to her mental list of things she didn't want to think about the topic of why exactly Bruce Wayne pissed her off, pushed her buttons, and why on earth the way he looked at her made her uncomfortable.

Shaking her head slightly, she turned back to her search of the Gotham Daily News.

* * *

"And did she like the gift, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked cheerfully as he brought lunch on a tray to Bruce down in the lab.

"So much, she almost threw it at my head," he replied ruefully.

"Different," Alfred remarked with a chuckle. "Very different, sir. Perhaps that is the reason she intrigues you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm reminded of a friend of mine, on a great hunt we went on in Borneo…"

Bruce settled deeper into the chair. This was going to take a while.

"…and once we had taken pictures with the beast, my friend fell into a deep despondency."

Bruce came to in time to ask, "Why?"

"Because the hunt was over, sir. Anticipation can be more pleasurable than the prize."

"She's not a prize."

"But you are a hunter."

"I just want…"

"I know, Master Bruce. It's a lonely path you're on. Just be careful."

"Of Amy?" he snorted, amused at the idea.

"Hunters have been known to be devoured by their prey."

"You know, Alfred, there are times I can't stand you."

"No need to thank me, Master Bruce. Now eat your lunch before it gets cold."

Bruce smiled at the older man, then sighed and turned back to the bank of computer screens.

He keyed in a search for "Papa Justify."

"Now, let's see what frightens Amy Curtis so badly about you," he murmured as he clicked on the first search result.


	4. Chapter 4

He had to smile when he saw the clumsy (as he thought of it) booby trap on her windowsill

He had to smile when he saw the clumsy (as he thought of it) booby trap on her windowsill. The stack of pots and pans, and strings of silverware hanging from the curtain rod would have probably scared off the normal intruder. But did she seriously think they would stop him?

Still, he found himself trying very hard not to smile as he carefully moved everything aside and slipped silently again into Amy Curtis' apartment.

She had been cooking again. He smelled sherry, cream and garlic still hanging in the air. Everything else was as he remembered it, except she had left her clothing draped over the back of the sofa, a sight which was almost…

He moved quickly into the bedroom. The warmth of the night had made Amy hot, and she had kicked off the covers, revealing the skimpy tank top and boxers that she wore. He was taken aback for a moment at how soft and young she looked with her bare limbs and bare feet sprawled out over the bed. She was a stomach-sleeper, he noted. This was the second time he'd found her sleeping that way.

He breathed deeply, letting the sound slowly penetrate her sleep. Her eyes fluttered for a moment, then shot open. She sat bolt upright in bed, clutching at her head and frantically peering into the darkness.

"Who's there?" she croaked, pushing her long hair out of her face.

He stepped forward to the foot of her bed and held out his hand, revealing two more gris-gris.

Amy blinked and swallowed, obviously still trying to wake up and collect her wits. Finally, she reached out and took them, then slid out of bed and went into the living room. She turned on a small lamp by the couch that threw a dim pool of light onto the coffee table. He followed her, watching as she set to work again, examining and dissecting the gris-gris. He stayed on the edge of the circle of light.

She sat back and stared at the contents of the two packets, frowning.

"They're the same as the first one you brought me," she said finally.

"What does that mean?"

She pulled her legs up onto the sofa and wrapped her arms around her knees as she thought.

"Two things: either someone has learned how to make this one particular conjure packet and is just repeating the only thing he or she knows…or…someone is working off a vendetta against these men. Same motive in each case. The contents of the gris-gris remind me of something…"

He watched her as she became lost in thought again. Suddenly, she jumped up and went over to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and began rummaging through the volumes piled and jammed onto the shelves. At last she found what she seemed to be looking for, but it was on the top shelf, above her reach.

It was easy enough for him come up behind her and to pluck the book she had been reaching for from the shelf. Startled to find him suddenly so close to her, she turned to face him, her back pressed against the shelf.

Once again, he felt his throat go dry at the nearness of this woman. So damn close, so small, so slender, so soft. With a low growl, he backed away, backing into the shadows. He watched the loose blonde hair tumble over her shoulders as she looked through the pages of the dry, academic-looking tome.

She looked him straight in the eye when she closed the book. Professor Curtis on her face.

"We're dealing with a multi-level 'spell' or 'curse,'" she said crisply. "The conjure packets are the cursing agent that I had thought they were. They are simply a formula used to gain control over a person. This control is often used for good, for healing and protection. In this case, though…"

He noticed she frowned, lost in thought. "They can also be used to control people for evil purposes, too?" he asked.

"Yes, but it's just that fact that makes what we're dealing with even more complicated. Did the men buy the gris-gris thinking that they were buying a protection charm? If so, whom were they trying to protect themselves against? Or did they think they were buying a regular good luck charm? Did the person who sell the gris-gris know what he or she was selling? Were they a bokor or working for one? Who put the curse on them once the men were controlled? The only thing I now can say for certain is that you've got a pretty powerful bokor working at the root of all of this."

He appreciated her quick thinking, the neat and organized way she analyzed the new questions and permutations, but still reached the gist of the matter.

He nodded and turned to leave.

"Wait!"

He looked back at her. She approached him, standing close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to look him in the eye.

"You're not thinking of going to the Ancien Quartier and starting to make inquiries about bokors, are you?" she said, quirking an eyebrow.

He stood silently.

"All wrong," she shook her head. "First of all, if they don't take you for Baron Samedi himself, and you don't scare the crap out of their hallucinogenic minds, they're hardly going to give up that kind of info to a stranger. They will only talk to someone they know and trust."

"Who is that?"

She smirked.

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"It's too dangerous."

She snorted. "You didn't just say that to me, did you? I'm already too deep into this for me to stay out of danger."

"Nobody knows you're involved."

"They have ways of finding out. I've touched the conjure packets, and-"

"How would they know from that?"

"I have no idea, but they'll know. So listen, you need me as your partner in this investigation. I can go where you can't, and find out what you'd never learn. I know what I'm looking for and how to analyze it. Besides, the deeper you get into this, the more you're going to need my protection."

He stared at her in a deeply doubtful silence. She smiled, almost sadly.

"None of your weapons are any good against what we're going to be fighting," she whispered, and he heard a faint flavor of fear in her voice. "You'll need me and what I know to keep you safe. And don't worry about me. I'm a tough girl. I've been deeper into this and come out alive a couple of times. I can take care of myself."

He wanted to say no again, to force her to stay safe and hidden, but her words were unfortunately reasonable and logical. He sighed inwardly, hating how he always ended up bringing innocents into his fight.

Nodding, he slipped away, silently through the booby-trapped window, his mind full of plans for the next step and images of barefoot Amy Curtis with her hair tumbling down her shoulders and her chin tipped up to him.


	5. Chapter 5

He had to smile when he saw the clumsy (as he thought of it) booby trap on her windowsill

"Amy!" Bruce called out to the trim little figure walking briskly ahead of him.

She turned and looked around, shading her eyes from the noontime sun, surveying the crowd of passing students as she tried to locate the voice that called her name.

He jogged over to her, seeing her expression go from puzzled to guarded.

"I'm glad I caught you," he said. "I thought I might take another pass at taking you to lunch."

"Mr. Wayne-"

"Bruce."

"I'm…I have to confess that I am just a little confused." Her words came quickly, with quick breath. Nervous. Defensive.

He simply looked at her, waiting for her to finish.

"I guess I don't understand why you are even remotely interested in getting to know me," she finished. Blushing. Looking anywhere but him. "We have nothing in common, have only met twice, and honestly, I would think you had other, more pressing things to do with your time. You know, Wayne Enterprises, charitable work, things like that."

Once again, he was struck by the unexpected straightforwardness of Amy Curtis. Any other woman would have dissembled and probably played coy. But she just stated her case simply and without any pretense. It was as refreshing as it was dangerous.

He closed the space between them, trying very hard not to enjoy towering over her, and also trying not to remember how he saw her the night before.

"You're different," he said simply. "You're not fake. You're doing something interesting with your life." He stopped, not wanting to say anything more that might betray what he knew of her from his nocturnal visits.

He watched Amy study him. Caught himself holding his breath as her eyes traced his face and searched his eyes. Poker face revealed nothing of her thoughts. Standing absolutely still, unusual skill in someone not trained like he was.

"Lunch would be nice," she replied finally. Voice still careful. Posture still stiff. "Maybe sushi?"

He had to smile as he could almost hear her begging to go to Oshinu.

"Actually, I had another idea. Mamma Celeste's in the Ancien Quartier."

"Why there?" Unexpected sharpness in her voice. Worry. Swallowing hard.

"Well, I just thought since we had both traveled to that part of the world, we could compare notes on, uh, the food and what we had seen."

"I prefer Ike's in the Quartier."

"But that's a Jewish deli! It's great, but I mean, why go to a deli in the heart of Creole cooking country?"

"Precisely because it has nothing to do with the Creoles of the Quartier. But honestly, I…"

He watched her, and what he saw was fear. Out-and-out fear. She did not want to go to the Quartier, even though last night, she had volunteered to go for Batman to do dangerous investigative work. What was going on with her?

"Look," she said finally. "Most people in Gotham think the Ancien Quartier is fun and touristy, a great place to go get drunk or get good Southern cooking. But it's a lot more than that, and I wouldn't want you running any unnecessary risks."

"Me? What do you mean?"

"Bruce Wayne, billionaire, is a very attractive target for people with very bad intentions, and-"

"That's nothing new, I can take care of myself."

"Not if you don't know what to take care of yourself against. You might not even know what is being done to you."

"Voodoo? Is that what you're talking about?"

Amy looked a little abashed, but held her ground.

"Plus," she added. "I'm kind of known in the Quartier. How many professors of Voodoo are there in Gotham? Not everybody likes me. Seeing you in my company wouldn't be good."

He observed her carefully for a moment. Breathing getting shallower. Voice getting higher. Speaking more quickly. Arms crossed over chest. Not making eye contact. Distress.

He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders, noting how she jumped slightly at his touch. He ducked his head down to catch her eyes.

"No worries," he said softly, trying to make his voice as soothing as possible. "I just thought it would be fun, but I respect your opinion. How about Oshinu for dinner tonight, instead?"

He was struck by the look of sheer delight that flashed across her face before she schooled her features back into calm control.

"Can you get in there on such short notice?" she asked.

He chuckled. "I can get the best table in the house on short notice."

She didn't look too impressed with him, but still nodded her assent.

"I'll pick you up at 7:00."

"Oh, it's out of the way for you. I'll meet you there."

"A gentleman always picks up a lady."

"Are you saying you're a gentleman?"

"I'm assuming you're a lady."

He felt a wave of triumph akin to besting a ninjitsu opponent when his retort actually brought out a genuine laugh from her. She nodded and walked away, but turned back.

"Is it formal there?"

"Pretty upscale."

"Oh."

"Wear the dress you wore to my party. That'll be fine."

"It's at the cleaner's. Don't worry, I'll find something that won't embarrass you."

Before he could call out that she couldn't possibly embarrass him, and that it was most likely the other way around, she was gone, melting into the crowd of students on the sidewalk.

* * *

"Fussing with your tie will not help it, Master Bruce," Alfred remarked as he brought over the suit jacket.

"I can't get it straight for some reason," Bruce scowled in the mirror.

"It's straight, sir, and I doubt very much she'll be looking at your tie."

"I feel like I'm on a first date."

"If I may be so bold as to point out, sir, you are on a first date."

"I'm worried about her. She wants to help Batman solve the murders, and the thing is, I need her help. She knows way more than I do – enough, in fact, to frighten the daylights out of her when I suggested lunch in the Ancien Quartier today."

"Indeed, sir?"

"She told me to stay away from the Quartier because of people who would want to hurt Bruce Wayne."

"A girl of eminent sense, sir."

He threw Alfred a dirty look and shrugged on the jacket, and shot his cuffs.

"I still haven't been able to find out anything more about this 'Papa Justify' character she mentioned," he sighed, checking himself over in the mirror one more time.

"And if you plan to have a pleasant date, sir, I would suggest not using this as an opportunity to ask Dr. Curtis about it."

"I can find a way to work it into the conversation, Alfred."

The older man sighed himself and shook his head. "Do you want to go on a date with Dr. Curtis or to interrogate her? If it's the latter, sir, might I suggest the more straight-forward method of tying her up, shining a spotlight in her face and having Batman pump her for information? If you want a date, spend your time talking about anything but Voodoo."

"I want both."

"Bruce Wayne can't have both, sir."

Bruce left to pick up Amy, a grim expression on his face.

The buzzer to her apartment rang, and Amy glanced at the clock on the stove. It was 6:45. Who on earth…oh crap! Bruce Wayne was coming to pick her up in 15 minutes, but then who was at the door.

"Hello?" she gasped as she lunged to answer the second buzz.

"Amy? It's Bruce."

She winced and said, "I'll buzz you up. I'm not quite ready yet. Sorry, I wasn't expecting you until 7:00."

"Don't worry about it."

A few moments later, she was opening the door to a dapper and dippy Bruce Wayne, who stood grinning on her threshold.

"Come in," she said, waving him inside. "I'll be ready in just a minute."

She saw him glance at her clothes – the same as she had been wearing earlier – and cringed a little.

"Have a seat," she said, hurrying over to the couch and brushing aside piles of papers and her laptop to create a small space for him to sit. She grabbed her shoes and jacket and dashed into the bedroom.

It was a mad frantic dash through her closet, taking into its darkest, most abandoned recesses from her college days and leaving piles of clothes stacked like Pisa-esque towers. Shoes were thrown around, drawers ransacked for clean underwear, and an entire shoebox of pens and pencils was turned upside down on the bed in search of an ancient lipstick she suspected was lurking in there. Finally, a short grey silk dress came together with fake pearl earrings and loose hair falling around her shoulders for what she prayed was appropriate.

With two minutes to spare, she rushed out of her bedroom into the living room, hooking on an earring with one hand and trying to hobble into a black high heel shoe in the other, while juggling another shoe, an evening bag, an earring and a jacket.

Bruce jumped up from the couch and slipped his hand around her waist and held her elbow to steady her as she wobbled into the other shoe, dropping everything else in the process. They both bent down to pick up the items and bumped heads. Amy found herself laughing ruefully as she stood back up.

"You look fantastic," Bruce said, eyeing her boldly and appreciatively. His gaze bothered her because it made her blush for no reason.

"Oh, thanks," she said hurriedly. "Sorry for the wait. Usually, I'm very punctual."

"I'm sure you are."

"Just like I'm not a flower person?"

He laughed a little as he escorted her to the waiting car in the street. She stopped and stared at it for a long moment. It was grey and obviously tremendously expensive.

"What kind of car is this?" she asked.

"Lamborghini."

"I've never seen one before. Dare I ask about the gas mileage?"

He laughed again as he helped her into the car. She was inexplicably pleased with the fact she could make him genuinely laugh. It was a little triumph to draw something more out of the vast vapidity that seemed to be Bruce Wayne. Then again, she was a teacher. It was her job to bring things out in people that they didn't know they had.

* * *

Amy wasn't usually easily intimidated, and prided herself on the fact that she was usually the one doing the intimidating. The rarified atmosphere and ultra-modern black and white décor of Oshinu, though, scared the intimidating right out of her. The people were all very tall, very thin and very bored-looking. The waitstaff looked like they really couldn't be bothered to serve you. Every table looked full.

Without meaning to, Amy shrank back a little behind Bruce as they entered the restaurant. The Maitre d', whom Amy was convinced would rather spit on you than seat you, hurried over, all smiles and compliments.

"Mister Wayne! What a pleasure! Your first time with us? I have the best seat in the house reserved for you, just as you asked for. And this is the charming Dr. Curtis? How do you do? This way, please!"

They were soon seated in a private little booth, a sheer, gauzy curtain separating them from the rest of the diners. Cocktails arrived, and Amy downed hers eagerly, if a little quickly.

"Would you like to split the Samurai boat?" Bruce asked, laying down the menu and studying her with a smile.

"Sounds good to me," Amy replied, avoiding making eye contact with him because it pissed her off too much to blush every single time he looked at her.

She had just decided what to say next to try and break the awkward silence between them when a band started to play. She vaguely noticed it was a mix of blues and jazz. Then, she heard it again. It couldn't be. Impossible! But, she couldn't deny it. It was the Papa Justify song again. She pulled back the curtain slightly to peek at the band. The same band that had played at Bruce's party, and…oh God!...that man, that old man was standing there, looking straight at her with those uncanny, blue-filmed eyes. He smiled deliberately at her as he sang.

She drew back and tried not to panic.

"What's wrong?" Bruce asked quietly, leaning forward.

"I…uh...it's…" It was getting harder to breathe, and she was feeling cold prickles creeping up her spine.

"It's the Papa Justify song again?"

She looked up sharply at him. His expression was serious, closed, almost forbidding.

"Yes."

"Do you want to leave?"

She looked down, feeling torn. Part of her wanted to get the hell out of there as fast as she could, but part of her felt bad about spoiling the evening, especially after Bruce had gone to the trouble to take her to the sushi restaurant she had been dying to try.

She shook her head. "No, we'll stay. I guess I didn't realize how popular this band was. How did you find them in the first place for your party?"

"They came recommended from the catering service, I think. I actually don't really know. I don't plan my parties."

She nodded, filing that piece of information away to follow up on later. She'd track down the caterer and find out more about the group. She needed another drink to steady her nerves, especially for what she had planned later, and she was relieved to see the dark figure of the waiter outside the curtain come to take their order.

The curtain was pulled aside, and she gasped to see the old man standing there instead. He looked straight at her and opened his mouth. Before she could scream, blood, worms, spiders and snakes exploded from his mouth, covering her and drowning her in a darkness in which she knew no more.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you everyone so far for your reviews! I really appreciate them, and they definitely keep me inspired to keep going...Virtual cookies for everyone! Evil cliffie for this chappie, I know...and don't get to comfortable with the idea that Amy and Bruce are getting along. More darkness and actual voodoo coming your way in the next chapter!**

**Yours in mischief,**

**Kate September**


	6. Chapter 6

The darkness lifted, and it felt like she was fighting her way to the surface of black water

The darkness lifted, and it felt like she was fighting her way to the surface of black water. Groggily, she opened her eyes, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings.

Everything was very modern, very stark. Open, like a loft. She was in a bed, a big bed with ivory sheets. In fact, she was warm and comfortable enough that it was almost a struggle to muster any kind of fear or surprise. A light was turned low on a square bedside table, and a glimpse out the floor-to-ceiling windows showed it was still nighttime.

There was something familiar, something…very familiar about this place, with its smooth stone surfaces and neutral colors. She had been here before, she was almost sure of it.

She wiggled her toes, relieved that they weren't in those uncomfortable high heels any more…

…and it all came flooding back to her.

She sat bolt upright, her heart pounding as her mind fully switched on.

She was in Bruce Wayne's apartment – in his freaking bed! He must have taken her here from the restaurant. But, how did he get her away from the old man? Or was he just as overcome by the man? Where the hell was Bruce? Wait, maybe she didn't want to know. Maybe, just maybe, he was part of this. What had Batman said? Damn, her head hurt!

Forcing herself to breathe slowly and deeply, she marshaled her thoughts. Bruce Wayne was the common thread through all of this. He had hired the band for the party. He had tried to take her to the Ancien Quartier. He knew about Voodoo, Voudon and Hoodoo. He had traveled to that part of the world. He had taken her to the restaurant where the band had yet again played. He had had the opportunity to spike her drink at the table. Hell, he had been in her apartment – who knows what he might have done there! She'd have to check over everything when she got back there.

If she got back there!

Suddenly, she realized that he might be trying to get her out of the way. After all, she was one of the only people in Gotham who would recognize black Voodoo for what it was. That would explain his sudden interest in her and "pursuit" of her. And, Bruce Wayne had the money and resources to practically buy his own personal bokor if he wanted. Why would he want those men dead, though? There was probably a reason, and that was the heart of the mystery.

She had to get out of that penthouse alive, and then she had to find Batman and tell him what she had discovered.

Silently, she slipped out of the bed and padded across the floor to the chair where her jacket, shoes and handbag were piled. She grabbed them and edged towards the staircase that led down to the main floor. Cautiously peering down, she didn't see anyone. She'd have to make a run for it across all that open space to the elevator. Wait, there'd have to be an emergency staircase. Better that than running the risk of waiting for an elevator and getting caught.

Sure enough, off to the side of the elevator was an unobtrusive door that opened onto a stairwell that showed it was a long way down to the street and to freedom. Amy took a deep breath and started moving down as fast as she could, ignoring the cold concrete on her bare feet.

"Hey! Amy! Where are you going? What's wrong?"

Bruce Wayne's voice seemed full of nothing but concern as he called to her from two flights above where she had gotten to.

She looked up at him for one agonizing moment, then forced herself to go as fast as she could without falling. One misstep and he'd catch up with her, and then it would be all over.

God help her!

* * *

It figured that the one minute he had stepped away from her bedside to go get a glass of water for her in case she needed it when she woke up was the one minute she woke up and decided – for whatever reason – she had to run away.

From the moment that Amy had heard the band starting to play at Oshinu, Bruce had realized that his date was going to be a disaster, and that the only thing to be salvaged from it was any information she could give him on Papa Justify.

Then, the waiter had come to take their orders. She had given him one look, her face frozen in a kind of rictus of terror, and she had simply passed out. It had been easy to get her out of there and back to the penthouse. Sudden showers of 20's always worked wonders on waitstaff.

And even though his mind had been racing with analysis, clues and deductions the whole time, he had allowed himself to enjoy politely manhandling the prickly Amy Curtis as he carried her into the penthouse, slipped off her shoes and settled her into his bed. She was so soft, and she smelled like baby lotion – clean and fresh. Even watching her troubled unconsciousness, there was something about her that was getting under his skin in a way no other woman had ever done.

She had tossed and writhed, her lips moving to form soundless words. He wondered if her drink had been spiked at the restaurant. It would have been easy enough for someone to find out that he was bringing Amy tonight – after all, he had made no secret of throwing their names about to get the reservation, and then someone could have tipped off the band.

The band! Papa Justify and that band – he would have to find out more about them, and fast…

As Amy tossed and turned, he noticed her lips were parched and decided she might need water…

"Amy! Come back! Wait!" he yelled again, crashing down the stairs after her, his mind slipping automatically into readiness for extreme physical action. She was already three flights ahead of him. He could jump the center of the stairwell and overtake her, but then that was something that Bruce Wayne wasn't supposed to be able to do. Why was she running anyway? Was she still under the effects of that hallucinogen or whatever drug had been given her?

"Stay away from me!" she screamed back as she continued to barrel down the stairs.

That was it. Something was still wrong with her. Get her. Hold her. Help her.

He braced himself and took a long jump forward, leaping over an entire flight and landing hard, but rolling right into another jump. Two more brought him within striking distance of her, and three long bounds enabled him to reach out and grab her arm as she dropped her shoes and bag and coat to move faster.

As Batman, he had seen that she was a fighter, but he still wasn't prepared for the way she recklessly slammed herself into him and deliberately sent them tumbling down the next flight of concrete steps.

He grabbed her around the waist and shoulders and tried to break her fall as best he could, but the hard bites of the concrete against his bones and skull made it almost impossible. When they finally thudded onto the next landing, he tried to maintain his grasp of her, but she jabbed her elbow into his throat, winding him just enough that he loosened his grip and she scrambled away.

Get up. Go. Get her. Put the pain away. Go!

Once more, he caught her, and once again, she forced them to take a tumble down the stairs, probably in hopes of knocking him out enough for her to get away. This time, her scheme worked. He hit his head hard enough to see stars and feel a crippling wave of nausea when they hit the landing. He was dimly aware of Amy getting up and stumbling away, making good her escape.

He surrendered to his body. He couldn't keep chasing her this way. He had to think. He began to breathe deeply to calm his pain and clear his mind so he could move again.

Amy Curtis had managed to get away, but she was barefoot, had left her purse with her keys and money on the stairs, and was probably still in an altered state of mind. It wouldn't be hard for Batman to find her. She trusted Batman, and in his suit, he'd be better equipped to catch and keep her safe from herself and whatever…whoever was trying to mess with her mind.

He forced himself to get up just as he heard the fire door for the first floor open and slam shut. With the cameras on the outside of the building, he could track her for a few hundred yards. In her state, she might not get far, but in her state, she'd be a ripe target for street criminals.

The seconds were ticking away. Go. Move. Fast.

Seven minutes later, Batman was burning through the streets, chasing Amy.


	7. Chapter 7

To be honest, Amy felt miserable and on the verge of crying. She was cold, barefoot and a very, very long way from her apartment. Even if she could make it all the way there in the middle of the dark, dangerous Gotham night without being attacked, she had left her keys in the stairwell of Bruce's building. Yes, she decided, it was okay to be miserable and self-pitying at the moment.

She hugged the shadows as best she could and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. She heard a low rumble of a big engine behind her, and she cringed, hoping to God it wasn't that grey car of Bruce's. Sliding a sidelong glance to the street, she was confused when she didn't see anything around her. She could have sworn she heard that engine.

Quickly, she turned back and started to move forward again, only to run into a solid wall of blackness. She inhaled sharply to scream, only to have two arms wind comfortingly around her, and a familiar voice growl, "Don't. It's me."

The breath came back out as a half-sob, and she threw herself fully into the embrace for a moment in sheer relief.

"Oh, thank God!" she choked, her fingers digging into the ridges and edges of the armor plates. She felt fabric surround her as the Batman wrapped her in his cape and lifted her so that her bare feet were resting on his boots and not the cold pavement.

"Are you all right?" he grunted, taking one hand and tilting up her chin.

Amy nodded, taking deep, shuddering breaths to calm herself down.

"Yes, I'm okay," she said. "At least now I am. I've had a hell of a night."

"So it would seem."

"Listen, can you break into my apartment? I lost my keys, and I have a spare set inside."

"Yes."

"And also, we have to talk. I have a suspect for you."

"Let's get you home, first." As if she weighed nothing, he swept her into his arms and carried her into the darkness of the alley.

For the first time in a long time, Amy allowed herself to relax completely in a man's arms - never mind that the man wore a bat costume and was a known criminal. There was something about the Batman that both enticed her and completely reassured her. Here was someone who was as strong as she was, if not stronger. He was as tough and as disciplined, and just as intelligent. It was exciting to her like nothing else had ever been, and his sheer physical prowess seemed to overwhelm her and surround her, and for once, she didn't feel threatened by a man's touch.

Relaxing deeper as his rhythmic steps lulled her through the darkness, she struggled to be outraged at the preposterous idea that she was falling for an impossible man. She should be horrified at herself at the situation she was letting herself in for, sticking to her principles and not associating with a wanted vigilante, a man who was in all likelihood deranged and dangerous. But she just couldn't muster the necessary energy or emotions.

She wondered if she was in more danger from her heart and the Batman than from the homicidal intentions of Bruce Wayne.

Why was life so complicated?

* * *

Ridiculously soft. Was she actually snuggling against him? God, why were her bare legs such an incredible...stop. He had to stop and think and be cold and logical.

She was almost dozing when he reached the Tumbler and deposited her in the passenger seat. She looked content. Content? To be with him?

The ride was short and silent back to her apartment. He left the Tumbler again in the darkness of an alley and carried her to the back of her building.

"Wrap your arms around my neck," he ordered, lowering her to her feet, but careful to keep her bare feet on his boots. "We're going up."

He wound one arm around her waist and pulled her tight to him as he shot the cable up to the roof and felt the grapple catch. Her arms snaked around his neck.

God, her breath on his jaw. Damn.

Silently, they shot up to her fire escape balcony. Noiselessly, he landed them. He heard her chuckle as he easily pried open her bedroom window and helped her climb inside.

"Now I know how you do it," she laughed, smiling at him.

"No, you don't."

"I could do it myself now."

"I doubt it."

She laughed again, and he felt his stomach flutter. She seemed so at ease with him in this situation. He was having trouble understanding why.

"Do you mind? I need to change?"

He realized he had been staring at her, and that they were standing in her bedroom. Without a sound, he disappeared into the living room.

Had he really been standing here just a few hours earlier, dressed impeccably in Dior and hoping for a romantic date with Amy Curtis?

It couldn't have been three minutes later when Amy came out again, now dressed in sensible flats, jeans an white shirt. Her hair was roped into a bun again, and she was busy stuffing things into a messenger bag.

"Okay, so here's the deal," she said, looking up at him, all business. "Big stuff has been going down tonight."

He knew that.

"First, I went to Oshinu, and someone slipped something into my drink."

He knew that.

"I'm pretty sure the waiter came over to the table, but I only saw an old black man - the lead singer in the band that was playing there - and...horrible things shot out of his mouth...blood, snakes, worms."

Ah, so that's what she had seen. No wonder she had been terrified, poor girl!

"Do you believe the man actually had anything to do with it?"

Amy nodded emphatically. "Naturally, I don't believe in the worms and snakes, though."

"I thought I had heard people possessed in Voodoo had creatures inside them."

She shook her head and smiled. "It's part of the lore, true, but it's kind of like psychic surgery where some quack pretends to plunge his hand into you and pull out guts, but in reality, he's just pushing really hard into your abdomen and by sleight of hand slip chicken guts into their hand to show you."

"Lovely."

"Honestly, I think the legends of beasts inside the possessed probably came from parasitic infections like tapeworms and hookworms, things that when they passed through the body or were found in an autopsy seemed ghastly and demonic to people before modern medicine explained what it was."

"Makes sense."

"But anyway, back to what happened at Oshinu. The man and that band had also played at a Bruce Wayne fundraiser was there. They played a Papa Justify song - same one they played at the other event. I don't call that coincidence."

"What do you call it?"

"Evidence."

"Of what?"

"Of who is masterminding these murders."

Interesting.

"Who?"

She fixed her gaze on him. "Bruce Wayne."

He had not been expecting that. For a moment, he didn't know what to say. Luckily, the Batman was the strong, silent type anyway.

"He has the means and the opportunity, and if you need any other evidence besides the same band showing up twice when he's around, he tried to kill me tonight."

Whoa.

"He did?"

Amy nodded, her jaw set. "Think about it. I'm the only person in Gotham who has the knowledge about Voodoo to figure out what he's doing. It explains why he has been interested in me since he found out about me."

No, it didn't.

"He knows about Voodoo, has traveled to that part of the world, has enough money to afford 20 personal bokors if he wanted, and -"

"What about motive?" Give the man a break!

Amy shrugged. "That's part of what we have to find out, but think about it. His parents were brutally murdered before his eyes. I'm no psychologist, but I'm pretty sure that seeing that kind of violence and experiencing that trauma at a young, impressionable age would screw a boy's mind up pretty significantly."

She had no idea.

"I woke up in his penthouse and knew I had to get out of there. He chased me, but I managed to get away from him."

Yes, he was aware of that.

"But, I'm going to call him up and apologize."

"Why?"

"Now that I know what he's up to, I'm going to stay on him like white on rice."

If only.

"I can protect myself against him, now that I know to be on guard. I'm in a good position to find out what he's up to and why and how. I don't think he's killing those men with his own hands."

No, no he wasn't.

"I'm also going to investigate in the Ancien Quartier."

"That's too dangerous."

"I think we discussed this already. Besides, you didn't exactly point out how dangerous it was for me to hang around Bruce Wayne."

"It's dangerous to hang around Bruce Wayne." In a way, it probably was.

"Thank you. Now, are you going to drive me to the Ancien Quartier, or do I have to risk life and limb taking the train?"

"I'll drive."

She smiled at him, and he almost smiled back.

Why was life so complicated?

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews and alert subscriptions!! The more reviews I get, the more excited I get to write new chapters...and the faster new chapters go up! Also, to answer some questions: I borrowed Papa Justify from "The Skeleton Key" because I really liked the name, but that's where the similarity ends. The Voodoo is all my own research, and the plot, as you'll see, doesn't have much else in common with that movie. :-) If you're interested in what I think Amy Curtis looks like, I kind of envision her as Samantha Mathis from "Little Women" - I just thought there was something very intriguing about her face, and I loved the thick, blonde bun...**

**So, again, virtual, fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies for all reviewers!**

**Yours in mischief,**

**Kate September  
**


	8. Chapter 8

"Disappear," Amy ordered as the Batman parked the Tumbler in a convenient dark alley. "I don't want you being seen around me."

"I'll be watching."

"I bet you will. But you won't see much, guaranteed. Where I'm going, you can't follow."

"Don't count on it."

"Don't you dare!"

He glared at Amy through the slits of his cowl. Infuriating woman. First, throwing him down the stairs, then suspecting him of murder, and finally ordering him around.

It would be so much easier if he could hate her.

* * *

Amy didn't bother watching out for herself and her surroundings as she quickly marched down the pavement. This was the Ancien Quartier. You didn't watch. You were watched, and it was decided what happened to you regardless of what you did or didn't want.

She was counting on her one sympathetic contact to help her. Maman Bonneventure was the only real practitioner in the neighborhood who understood that Amy wasn't about to sell anyone out to the police or objectify them through sensationalist books. The only thing that made Amy nervous about her chances this time was the fact she was going to be asking about black magic.

The convenience store "Depanneur Plaisance" would not have aroused any suspicions in anyone passing through. Coolers of Diet Coke and shelves of over-priced paper towels and cans of Goya beans filled the narrow space. Behind the checkout counter were rolls of lottery tickets, boxes of cigarettes and condoms.

Amy walked in, keenly aware she was in the minority for once, her white skin standing out painfully under the fluorescent glare.

"Is Maman around?" she asked as casually as she could of the sullen-faced young man behind the counter.

"Maybe."

"I'm a friend of hers."

He chuckled unpleasantly, glaring at her appraisingly.

"Amy Curtis?"

"Le professeur?"

"Oui."

"En arriere."

"Merci." Amy walked to the back of the store and slipped through the door to the storeroom.

"Amy Curtis come to call on Maman?" an older woman's rich voice rang out, the words rocked by her sing song accent.

"How did you know?" Amy asked, coming around the corner of a shelf to see a heavy-set woman sitting on a stool in front of a low table littered with pebbles, bone fragments and candles. "Are you really psychic?" she teased affectionately.

"Non, cherie. I saw you on the security camera," Maman nodded in the direction of the small black and white television monitor. "Now, what you come to see me for? I won't decide between the men for you."

"What?"

"The light one and the dark one. Pulling you in two."

"How..."

Maman quirked a disapproving eyebrow at Amy's doubt.

"That's not what I came about," Amy said finally, regrouping. "I'm trying to help someone solve the murders that have been happening in the Quartier."

Maman hissed and shook her head. "You leave that alone, Aimee. That is not of your business!"

"Three men are dead!"

"Five."

"What?"

"Five. Two haven't been found. Don't think they will be, either unless they look in the river."

"How do you know that?"

"Cherie, there's a lot more that we know than those police who come around here thinking they ask the right questions. Those men died because they had to."

"Why is that?"

"If I tell you, you get linked up in this, and it's not good."

"I'm already involved. I examined the gris-gris found around their necks."

"You didn't touch, did you?"

"Yes. I had to."

"Foolish bebe! Why you go and do that? Now I have to make you protection. Always more work for Maman."

"I need you to tell me who is the bokor in the Quartier."

"Non!"

"More people will die if you don't."

"It's the will of Papa Legba, then," Maman spat out, pronouncing the name of the main god of Voudon with a mix of spite and reverence.

"I don't believe that," Amy retorted. "And I don't believe you do, either. You told me that it's about balance between light and dark, good and bad, but not evil."

"Just because I keep you innocent doesn't mean evil doesn't hunt us all, bebe."

"Please help me."

Maman Bonneventure eyed Amy narrowly, then rose from her stool with a stiff sigh and pulled several cardboard boxes off the shelves behind her.

* * *

"What did you find out?"

Amy stifled a cry as dark arms pulled her into the pitch black alley. She let herself be sheltered by his cape to mask the glowing white of her shirt.

"I have to think."

"What do you mean?" he hissed, more than a little impatience in his voice.

"My head is spinning from everything, and I'm not sure of what I really learned. I don't want to send you on a wild goose chase."

"You were in there a long time."

"Rituals take time."

"Rituals?"

Amy sighed tiredly. She wanted to rest her head against his chest, but refrained for the sake of whatever shred of dignity she had left after this night.

"Yes, rituals. I can tell you that it's not just three men that are dead. It's probably five, and two are in the river."

"They'll never be found."

"Yeah. But I'm betting their gris-gris were the same make and stuffing. Listen...can you...can you just take me home right now? I'm feeling a little overwhelmed."

"Will you tell me what you know tomorrow?"

"I promise."

He briefly touched her face with his gloved hand, and she let her eyes flutter closed, trying to capture the sensation to the fullest. Yes, Maman had been right. He was the dark one who was pulling at her...but the light one? Who was that? She couldn't think of anyone else she was attracted to, and while the Batman was there with her, she didn't want to think of anyone else.

* * *

Bruce Wayne grunted as Alfred pulled open the shades. The clock on his bedside table announced it was 11:00. He supposed he should be grateful for Alfred letting him sleep in, but somehow gratitude was in short supply at that moment.

"Good morning, sir. A spot of tea to wash down your foul protein shake?"

"She hates me, Alfred."

"Undoubtedly, Master Bruce."

"But I could swear she...she...is attracted to my, uh, alter ego."

Alfred tsked. "Clearly a mentally disturbed young woman. That reminds me, she is holding on the telephone for you."

Bruce nearly tripped over himself trying to disentangle himself from the sheets and get to the phone across the room.

"Hello?" he croaked into the receiver, wincing as his voice cracked like a teenager's.

"Bruce? It's...Amy."

"Amy, are you all right?" He knew she was, but he asked for the sake of appearances.

"Yes." There was a pause. "Listen, I wanted to apologize for last night. I think someone slipped a...um...rufie in my drink. I was not myself, and I, uh, wanted to apologize for um...if you were hurt last night. I didn't mean it."

Bruce was almost stunned at how sincere she sounded as she told those lies. He well enough remembered her "plan" as revealed to the Batman. He hated that she was lying to him, and he hated that she was afraid of him and suspected him of horrible things. But, he had to play along...at least for a little while, if only to protect her during daylight hours when the Batman couldn't be there. Besides, if it meant that Amy Curtis was going to be nice to him - even if she didn't really mean it - he would make good on every opportunity to torture her with his charm in return.

"Oh, hey, yeah, that's okay," he replied warmly. "I figured something like that happened. I'm really sorry, but I'm glad you're okay today. So, since I couldn't buy you dinner, can I buy you lunch instead?"

He could almost see her gritting her teeth through the other end of the telephone line.

"Sure," she said with a forced cheerfulness. "That sounds really great."

Bruce grinned to himself. He was starting to enjoy this.

"I'm glad you're going to give me a second chance," he said, twisting the knife and oozing tenderness into the receiver.

"Actually, a third chance - your party was the first."

He felt his ribs strain as he tried not to laugh. "You're right, and you know what, Amy? I have wanted this chance since I laid eyes on you."

"Oh, well, great...and...so, 12:30 for lunch?"

"Perfect. I'll meet you at your office."

"Sure."

"See you then, Amy Curtis." He hung up and laughed softly.

Alfred cleared his throat.

"Something casual today, Alfred."

"Khakis and a 30-odd-six, perhaps, Master Bruce?"

"What on earth do you mean?"

"It's always best to be prepared for the hunt, sir."

"Honestly, Alfred!"

"Just because the gazelle walks up to the lion doesn't mean the lion gets a meal."

"Alfred!"

"Remember, a gazelle can outrun a lion, sir."

Bruce laughed, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Alfred was right. What he puzzled over was which one of him was Amy's lion - Bruce or the Batman? Her life, his life and possibly the lives of innocent men and women depended on the answer.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in getting a new chapter up. I had some bad news about my health last week that left me reeling. I've got some challenges to face over the next month as I go through treatment, but I'm determined to keep up at least a chapter a week. Your reviews mean so much to me and give me the inspiration to go on...**

**Yours in Mischief,**

**Kate September**


	9. Chapter 9

Ike's Deli in the Ancien Quartier stuck out like a sore pastrami on rye in the midst of the rich, Caribbean culture that permeated almost every other business in the neighborhood. But, the power of a good reuben sandwich cannot be denied, and Amy and Bruce had to fight the noontime crowd in the small restaurant to squeeze into a tiny booth.

Bruce looked around, smiling wryly to himself, then he looked at Amy. She was smiling at him. That was just so wrong and incongruous with the real Amy that he knew, he felt the pit of his stomach drop.

"Popular place," he remarked, taking a menu and pretending to glance through it.

"I know it's not fancy like you're used to," Amy started to say, sounding oddly apologetic.

"No, no. That's not what I meant. I don't have to…I don't need…all those fancy things, they're just…"

Good Lord, what was the matter with him? Stumbling over his words like a stupid schoolboy. Why was he even trying to get her to believe that there was more to him anyway? He was supposed to be playing a game, a role. She would never trust him, and all he needed to do was stay close to her to make sure she didn't get hurt and to try and get as much information out of her as possible.

He took a quick breath and regrouped, trying to ignore the way she was leaning over to share his menu.

"Funny thing, though, having such a famous Jewish deli in this neighborhood," he said, making sure he drawled lazily like a billionaire playboy was supposed to do.

"Well, in ancient times, it wouldn't be so unusual. Oooh, I think I know what I want."

"What are you going to have, and why wouldn't it be unusual?"

"Tuna melt on rye. And, historically, there was a lot of cross-cultural mixing between the Levant region and North and West African cultures. Egypt itself was an epicenter of trade and communication, I mean, it was ideally positioned between the two regions, plus had one of the best conduits for the transportation of goods with the Nile."

Bruce studied Amy, admiring her knowledge. Her intellect, that had to be one of the things he was finding infuriatingly attractive about her – aside from her temper, her unexpected ability to tell the truth and still hide things, and the way she quirked her eyebrows when curious. It was such a refreshing change to spend time with a woman who was educated, intelligent and clever.

What was happening to him? He was getting distracted again, entranced by that strange professorial charisma. Damn! He shook his head slightly and took another deep breath.

"So, you're saying Ike's in the Ancien Quartier is a microcosm of history repeating itself?" he asked, trying to draw out more from her.

Amy stared at him, then burst out laughing. "Oh, that's precious," she giggled when she caught her breath. "You almost sounded intellectually arrogant enough to be a grad student."

"Happy to oblige, ma'am."

The harassed waiter arrived and took their orders. Bruce tried repeatedly to bring the conversation back to the Ancien Quartier and Voodoo, but Amy seemed to be having none of it. Instead, she peppered him with cheerful, charming questions about little things in his life, like how many pairs of cufflinks did he own, what was his favorite dessert, or what he thought of this or that celebrity.

He answered readily enough, trying to figure out why she was acting this way. He knew that she was playing just as much of a game with him as he was with her, but why wasn't she asking more pointed questions? Why wasn't she trying to subtly work in mentions of the Ancien Quartier murders or Voodoo? His mind spun, precisely computing all the possibilities of her strategy. But still, he couldn't pinpoint her purpose, and that bothered him. A lot.

It meant that Bruce couldn't figure her out. He had finally met someone who had the potential to outwit him, and it was only the fact that he had a secret leg-up on her in terms of being the Batman as well that let him know anything at all of what she was thinking and planning.

The waiter returned, slapping the plates down in front of them, then muttering under his breath as he took their empty glasses away about people always wanting refills.

Amy didn't hesitate. The tuna melt was under attack in a matter of moments, and looked like it'd be gone in a few moments more.

"Must be good," he commented around a mouthful of pastrami.

For interrupting her eating with such a stupid remark, Amy gave him the first eye roll and disgusted look of the entire luncheon. It gave Bruce an odd kind of lurching thrill, more than her insincere smiles. Plus, she liked to eat. That was really a nice change from the coked-up socialites who used the drugs to dampen their appetites and keep them thin.

All too soon, the meal was over.

"I had better get back," Amy said, standing up and trying to stretch subtly. "Department meeting this afternoon, and I need to pretend to be awake, if not interested."

"Can I take you out to dinner?"

Amy looked somewhat startled by the offer and then quickly shook her head. He felt unaccountably irritated and dejected.

"I'm so sorry, I can't do tonight," she said. "How about lunch again tomorrow?"

He perked up at the idea, then his face fell. "I can't do lunch. Board of Directors meeting for Wayne Enterprises. How about dinner tomorrow?"

"Want to try Oshinu again?"

He couldn't respond for a moment, floored by the suggestion. Yet, her face looked perfectly open and innocent, which he knew she was not.

"I mean, lightning can't strike twice can it?" she added with a light laugh.

Or can it? He wondered, and wondered if that is what she was counting on.

"Anything you want, Amy," he said softly, modulating his voice to velvet, calculated to bring a blush to her cheeks. As he saw the flush rise, he felt his own stirrings and immediately backed away.

He escorted her back to her office at the university and leaned against the wall of the corridor as she unlocked the door.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye for the moment," she said, turning to him. Her cheeks were flushed again. Damn, she was like a drug!

He couldn't help himself. He raised his hand to her jaw and gently stroked her cheek with his thumb. She was so soft. Leaning in closer to her, he inhaled her fresh, sweet smell, holding her eyes trapped in his gaze. Just another inch or two would bring her mouth to his, and he would see if that was soft, too.

He straightened up abruptly and cleared his throat.

"Just for the moment," he said gently, then nodded and disappeared, the image of Amy's bewildered expression burning in his retinas. What he wanted, he couldn't have because of all the lies – his and hers. If he kissed her now, they would never know if it was truly their first kiss or just part of the game and the web of deception they were both so effectively weaving.

* * *

Amy didn't bother getting undressed for bed that night. As tempting as it might be to slip into her camisole and silky boxers for the guest she was expecting, she knew better. There was work to be done tonight, and while he could get away with an outrageous outfit, she'd have to wear more prosaic and practical clothing like cargo pants and a t-shirt.

She sat on her couch, pouring over her notes, open books and copies of scholarly articles she had pulled. Alternately chewing on the tip of her pen and sipping coffee from a chipped mug, she didn't notice the shadow that silently slipped from her bedroom into the living room.

"Nice night."

Papers went flying everywhere, books went tumbling, and part of her notes landed in her coffee.

"Jesus Murphy, Mary and Joseph!" she exclaimed, clutching her hand over her pounding heart. "What have I told you about knocking? This sneaking up on me has to stop. Very bad for my heart. I'm no good to you dead from cardiac arrest."

"Your heart is fine."

Oh it was, was it? Would his definition of fine include the kind of divine, insane confusion his presence produced in her? Would it also include the bizarre thrill she felt when Bruce Wayne almost kissed her this afternoon, despite the fact she knew he was a murderer? Could you call any heart fine that seemed to be attracted to freak vigilantes and billionaire criminals?

"You said you'd tell me what you learned last night."

"Yes, I did," she said, nodding. "And I think I might have some more background information to add to it. But, would you like some coffee or something? Water? Gatorade?"

Okay, she felt ridiculous offering all that, but it seemed wrong not to be a good hostess, even if your guest was a giant bat. She thought she saw a ghost of a smile tug at one corner of his lips as he simply said, "No, thank you."

"Right, well, okay, so here's what I learned from Maman," Amy said hurriedly to change the subject. "There is a bokor who is passing out the bad gris-gris and performing curses, just as I had suspected. The men who were killed were houn'gan-in-training."

"Run that by me again?"

"Houn'gan are the male priests of Voodoo. They are magicians, summoners of the gods, leaders of the rituals. But, even more so, they are leaders in the community, giving out advice, spiritual guidance, counseling and medical treatment for those who either can't afford Western medicine or don't trust it."

"By killing off the houn'gan-in-training, whoever is doing this is cutting the legs off the body of the community."

Amy nodded, biting her bottom lip pensively. "I'm worried that it won't stop there. What's to stop them from taking out the older, more powerful houn'gan and the mamans – the female priests? I mean, why stop with the initiate priests?"

The Batman stood silent in the shadows, but Amy could almost feel the physical effort of his mind to unravel the knot she presented. She sighed. It was about to get worse.

"There's something else," she said. "The bokor isn't working for anyone in the Quartier itself. His client is an outsider to the community, which makes all of this even more of an abomination to the community itself. And as if that wasn't bad enough, Maman hinted that the bokor might be part of a bizango that has taken root in Gotham."

"What's a bizango?"

"It's a secret society of bokors, practicing almost exclusively dark magic," she explained. "They're the ones who practice zombification."

She noticed the Batman shifted slightly, almost uncomfortably.

"How do they make zombies?" he asked harshly.

She sighed and shrugged lightly. "It's a complex combination of drugs, psychological terror and ready-made cultural belief."

"But does anyone know how to make the drug?"

"Sure, but they're all in the bizango, and even the ones who aren't would never tell a blanc."

"A what?"

"Blanc – white, or white man. So, what else you got for me in terms of questions?" Amy asked, but she had a hard time suppressing the excitement in her voice. This was scary and terrible, but it was also secretly, guiltily exciting. The most damn exciting thing that had happened to her in a long time. Not since her crazy days of research in Haiti had anything like this come along.

"Got any idea how to find them?"

"Ah, I thought you'd ask that," she replied in a satisfied voice, uncurling herself from the sofa and walking over to him. Just to stand near him, in that tall, dark shadow was intoxicating.

"Here's where we're going tonight," she added, handing him a slip of paper.

"WE are not going anywhere."

"WE have been through this before!" she snorted, turning her face up to his, arms akimbo on her hips.

"YOU are going to bed."

"YOU are going to get yourself cursed then killed without me."

"YOU underestimate me."

"YOU have no clue."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"Don't argue with me."

"I will if I want to, especially if you're being a pig-headed, obtuse, sophomoric, stubborn…"

Amy didn't have a chance to finish her creative invective because in a single heartbeat, he had swept her into his arms, his hand roughly cradling her face as he crushed her against him.

There was a wild, feral light in his shadowy eyes, and she could have sworn he growled as he brought his lips within a breath of hers.

Abruptly, he pushed her away from him. She took a stumbling step back, dazed and irrationally infuriated. What the hell? No one wanted to kiss her today? Two near misses, two more than the past four years, and still nothing, not even from the billionaire criminal or the crazy vigilante.

She took a deep breath and tried to put the ridiculous thoughts from her. She had work to focus on. Looking up at him, she met his gaze. It seemed he was having as hard a time as she was getting control over his emotions. He looked almost…wounded.

"Look," Amy said, smiling gently and putting on her most reasonable voice, the kind she'd use on a toddler if she ever had the occasion to meet one. "I know there will come a point when it will get too physical and too dangerous for me, and I promise you that I'll stop and step back then. You get to handle hitting the nasties over the head and cuffing them. I just want to lead you to them."

He glowered at her.

"Like it or not, I still know more than you do about this subject. You need my brain."

"Too bad it comes attached to the rest of you."

Ouch. That stung. Blinking back stupid, irrational tears, she lifted her chin.

"Yeah, well, I still have a lot to tell you, and if you think you can learn about the Pethro Loa faster than I can explain it, then fine. Go to it. But if anything happens to Maman or any of the other houn'gan in the Quartier, it's on your conscience that you didn't use every resource available to you."

"You're infuriating."

"What we need to do is find the trail of the Pethro Loa."

"Who?"

"These are the gods that are traditionally on the dark side of the balanced equation. They're not necessarily evil, but they can be used in that way because of their nature. They are more aggressive, dangerous, quick and powerful than other Loa. They balance out the light or Rada Loa. So, is your car parked far?"

He roughly grabbed her, and the next few moments were a blur as he streaked through the bedroom, leapt out the window and floated them down to the ground in the alley. He motioned for her to stay silent as he swung her into his arms and ran with her to the car.

"I can run," she hissed once, reluctantly admitting to herself she enjoyed the opportunity to put her arms around his broad, armor-clad shoulders.

He didn't answer, keeping them in the deepest shadows.

"You know it's funny," Amy remarked as she climbed into the Tumbler. "I was just in the Quartier today eating at Ike's…with Bruce Wayne. Seriously can't see how he can be a murderer, but I'm sure he wears a mask. Anything the matter? Something catch in your throat?"

"No."

"But we talked about the mix of Jewish and African cultures. It extends into Voodoo as well. Voodoo tradition says that Moses learned the ways of Voodoo from a mentor, and took it back to Israel. Voodoo points to the geometry of the temple of Jerusalem, the sacrifices and lots of other 'facts.' But the most interesting part is that Voodoo claims that the man who taught Moses was a Midian, a black man, named Jethro."

"Jethro and Pethro? Any connection?"

"Same person," Amy replied. "Though, in Hebrew, Jethro is also known as Raguel, and in some Judaic and Christian early literature, Raguel is an archangel. But in Voodoo, he is known as Ra-gu-el, keeper of justice and harmony. WHOA!"

She yelled out involuntarily as she clutched at anything she could to brace against the sudden, screeching stop of the car.

"What's that name again?" the Batman demanded savagely.

"Ra-gu-el Pethro."

"Ra-gu-el."

"Yes."

He yanked the car around savagely and sped back the way they had come.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Back to your apartment. It's not safe for you on the street any more."

"How do you know that?" she demanded angrily.

"I'm beginning to understand."

"Understand WHAT?"

He pulled up in the alley behind her building and leaned over to cup her cheek with his gloved hand, far more gently this time.

"Amy, trust me. You don't want to get mixed up with Ras'al Ghul and the League of Shadows."

"What's that?"

"Your bokor's client, and the new 'bizango' that has come to the Quartier."

"Are you sure?"

"No, but I'm going to make sure. And you shouldn't be there when I do."

"The police?"

He shook his head grimly. Amy felt a wave of panic and gripped the hand that still held her cheek.

"You'll be careful, won't you?" she asked in a small voice. "You'll come back and tell me everything?"

His eyes seemed to glitter as he gently tugged his hand away. He pressed a button and her door slid open.

"If you're lucky, you'll never see me again."

Speechless, shocked and drowning in a whirl of crazy conjecture, Amy stumbled out of the car and watched him pull away again, disappearing into the shadows.

"League of Shadows," she whispered, trying to keep her heart from sinking. "Ras'al Ghul."

Her jaw tightened, and her lips folded into an uncompromising line. She turned and ran back into the building. She had some research to do.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the long, long delay of this installment, but I hope it's long enough to satisfy you for the moment. I actually spent a lot of my recovery time doing some intensive research on Voodoo, as I do like to make my work as accurate as I can. So, everything you read in this story is verifiable…which, I hope adds to the fun.**

**I promise not to go so long without an update again (knock wood). Your reviews have kept me motivated and inspired to keep writing, despite everything else that has happened to me...e-chocolate chip cookies for all readers and reviewers!  
**

**Yours in mischief,**

**Kate September**


	10. Chapter 10

Batman sped through the darkness, not really thinking about where he was going. All he knew was that somehow, the League of Shadows was back in Gotham, trying yet again to take down his city. _His_ city? That is how he felt, though, as he was the one to protect it from nameless terrors. Just like Amy was his Amy in his mind.

No, he couldn't afford to think of Amy. He violently pushed the thoughts of her away from him. Instead, he tried to think of who in the League of Shadows would be next to take the title of Ras'al Ghul.

It was Amy's mention of Ra-gu-el that clued him in. But that was where Amy's involvement ended, as far as he was concerned. There was no place for her in this game. She had to be kept safe at all costs. Damn! He was thinking about her again. He forced himself on track once more.

Henri Ducard was dead. Someone else was now playing the role of Ras'al Ghul. How to find the League agents in Gotham? Perhaps Bruce Wayne would have to throw another party…that's how they had found him last time. He'd have to work quickly before this whole thing escalated. He'd throw an impromptu party at his place tomorrow night.

Tomorrow night…something else was tomorrow night…

Bruce Wayne had promised to have dinner with Amy tomorrow night.

He felt his throat constrict slightly at the thought that he would have to keep Amy from getting any closer to Bruce. He would have to dump her unceremoniously. Get her out of the way. Get her safe. Never see her again.

He growled in pain, as he found himself pulling into the abandoned construction yard where he now kept his "toys." Automatically swinging the Tumbler around to bring it underground, he tried to block out the pain at the thought of never seeing Amy Curtis again.

His thoughts swinging between trying to figure out where the League might be headquartering in Gotham and the pain of letting Amy Curtis go, he made his civilian way back to the penthouse. Alfred, as always, was waiting for him.

"Cup of tea, Master Bruce?" he asked pleasantly, as if nothing had happened.

Bruce collapsed in the nearest chair and looked up at Alfred.

"They're back," he said bleakly.

"Who, sir?"

"The League of Shadows."

"How do you know?"

"Amy uncovered the clue," Bruce said bitterly, hating to say her name.

"And now, we have to figure out where they are, what they are up to, and what in the world you are going to do to protect Miss Curtis?" Alfred said calmly.

"Protecting Amy will be easy," Bruce said. "At least in theory."

"You mean ignoring her and pretending as if she never existed?"

"It's the only way, Alfred."

"Has it ever occurred to you that Miss Curtis can take care of herself?"

Bruce shook his head. "I can't take that risk. I just can't. If the League got wind that she was beginning to understand what they were doing, they would simply eliminate her, without a second's hesitation. Even if they didn't guess, if they saw that she was close to me, they would take her and use her against me, to force me to make a choice between her and Gotham."

"And you don't think you could do it, sir?"

"No, I'm afraid that I could," Bruce said softly, his eyes going dark and distant as he looked out the window, as if to see all the way across town to one window in particular.

"So what is your plan now, sir?" Alfred asked, not wanting to know how Bruce would choose.

"We invite the League to come get me," Bruce said. "We throw a party tomorrow night. Get the same caterer, the same band, and publicize the hell out of the theme."

"What would the theme be, sir?"

"Voodoo."

Alfred snorted. "Subtle, sir. Very subtle."

Bruce looked up at him ruefully, unable to smile.

"I'd best get to work if I'm going to get this party pulled together by tomorrow night," Alfred said. He turned to leave, then paused and looked back at his gloomy charge.

"Has it occurred to you, sir, that while you might be able to leave Miss Curtis alone, that she might not want to leave you alone?"

"Amy doesn't like me, Alfred. She suspects me of murder."

"Exactly, sir. She's not going to sit back and let a criminal slip through her fingers to do more damage."

"She should know better!" Bruce said angrily, the thought of Amy putting herself in danger angering him and filling him with dread at the same time.

"I could say that about you, too, sir," Alfred said and went off.

Bruce glowered at the window, still searching for that one little window.

* * *

Amy was up almost all night, becoming slowly obsessed with her search for Ras'al Ghul and the League of Shadows. It was incredibly frustrating, as there seemed to be nothing on the web that indicated that anything like that existed. And yet, the Batman had been so sure of it, so sure of what had suddenly caused him to ditch her so unceremoniously.

Toward dawn, she finally dozed off, only to be awakened mid-morning by a phone call.

"He-hello?" she gasped.

"Amy?" The voice on the other line was recognizable, but cool.

"Bruce? Hi, hey, how's it going? Sorry, I was just…I just woke up…overslept," Amy stammered.

"Listen, sorry to have woken you up, but I thought I should let you know that I can't do dinner tonight."

"Oh, that's fine. No problem. We can reschedule."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"What? I'm sorry, I don't understand."

There was a faint sigh on the line. "I don't think we should see each other any more."

There was a palpable moment of silence as Amy processed his words. Part of her – a very small part – was suddenly suspicious of him again, wondering if he was planning a new crime. The rest of her, however, was reeling from the unexpected rush of emotions that she felt. He was dumping her and they weren't even really dating.

"Oh," was about all she could manage at first, feeling dazed and somewhat bushwacked.

"You're a nice person, Amy. You'll find someone who's right for you."

"Um…"

"Listen, I have to go. But you take care of yourself, okay?"

"Okay."

The line went dead. Amy stared at the phone for a long moment, trying to make sense of the crazy emotions tumbling through her: hurt, irritation, hurt, disappointment, hurt, humiliation.

It was ridiculous that she felt this way! The man was a murderer, a criminal of the worst kind, plotting some kind of terrible grand crime and using the people of the Ancien Quartier to do it. The man also had a way of looking at her that made her heart flutter. Damn!

In a queer sense, the Batman had broken up with her, too. The crazy vigilante in a costume who made her go weak at the knees, telling her that she would never see him again.

It was too weird. Something was wrong. Her thoughts were too confused to figure it out though. The only thing she knew for certain was that she was late for work. Quickly, she got ready and went to her office to check in and get ready for her class that afternoon.

Anxiously going through her notes and her emails, Amy worked steadily until a knock at her door startled her and made her look up.

Standing in the doorway was her colleague, Harry Duckler, guest visiting professor of religion, here for a semester. She and Harry had got on famously from the start, both sharing an intense interest in native religions and voodoo. He was also quite handsome, though Amy had always kept things strictly professional between them, even though he had hinted that he would welcome something more.

"Oh, hey, Harry," she said, startled. "How are you?"

"Good," Harry said, leaning against her doorframe, smiling, his blue eyes twinkling with merriment. He had trimmed his reddish brown beard that morning, and when he smiled, there were lines at the corners of his eyes. "You slept in this morning?"

Amy smiled wanly and nodded.

"Well, hopefully, you're up for a party tonight," Harry said, taking a step into her office.

"Harry, I don't know. I don't think that…"

"Professional interest only, if you like," he interrupted. "It's a voodoo party."

"A voodoo party?" Her ears perked up and her mind jumped into hyper-analysis mode, calculating the likelihood of getting more clues to this mystery.

"Thought I'd ask you to go with me. We could grab a bite to eat beforehand. Maybe Oshinu?"

Amy had to laugh ruefully at this coincidence.

"What?" Harry said, grinning. "It's a perfectly honorable proposal. I will even pick you up and bring you back home."

"No, no, it's just that I was supposed to go to Oshinu tonight anyway, and my plans got cancelled."

"Bruce Wayne cancelled dinner with you?" Harry's voice got a shade darker.

"It's no big deal," Amy said hurriedly. "There was nothing going on, anyway."

Harry looked at her with a curious intensity that drew a hot flush into her cheeks.

"Bruce Wayne is a very foolish man for letting you slip through his grasp," Harry said quietly. He picked up Amy's hand from the keyboard and dusted a quick kiss on her knuckles. "I would never let that happen."

Before Amy could respond, he dropped her hand gently and winked at her.

"I'll be around to get you at 7:00."

He left her office and left her staring blankly after him.

Harry's offer had been incredibly flattering, and she had to admit that her heart skipped a beat when he kissed her hand. Maybe she could enlist his help with this voodoo mystery. If the Batman wasn't going to help her, and she couldn't get at the answer through Bruce Wayne, she'd have t do it on her own. But if Harry Duckler could help her, then two brains might get to the solution faster…even before the Batman.

A drop of smugness fell into the poor of her hurt and humiliation, and she felt a drop better.

Who needed the Batman and Bruce Wayne for anything, anyway? Not her.

Not Amy Curtis.

* * *

**A/N: Hello!!! I am slowly crawling out from under my rock of editing. I promise to be a wee bitty bit more consistent in updating. Thanks to all who have stuck with me!**

**Is the Amy/Bruce/Batman triangle becoming a trapezoid with Harry Duckler? Will the Batman be able to protect Amy? Will Bruce be able to stay away from Amy? Will Alfred ever give up needling Bruce? What is the real secret behind the bokors in the Ancien Quartier?  
**

**Stay tuned for the next episode of Spellbinding!**

**Yours in Mishcief,**

**Kate September**


	11. Chapter 11

"Are you certain that Ras al'Ghul will show up?" Alfred said, sighing as he handed Bruce his tuxedo jacket. "I hate to think that I've gone to all this trouble for nothing if he doesn't."

"I like a good party," Bruce replied grimly, pulling on the jacket and trying not to think of Amy, but it was getting harder and harder. It had been less than 24 hours since he – or rather Batman – had seen her, and yet, it was like he was dying of thirst. He wanted to see her, to hold her in his arms, to look into her skeptical eyes and make her a true believer. Damn it, he wanted Amy, and she was the one thing he couldn't have. And damn it, he shouldn't be thinking about her.

No, he needed to be thinking about the League of Shadows and getting them out of Gotham…and even thinking longer term what to do about them. They would never leave Gotham alone while they existed…and if it wasn't Gotham, it would be another city with other innocents…

"The guests are arriving, Master Bruce," Alfred pointed out, glancing at the security camera that showed the entrance to the penthouse.

"Then I had better go show them a good time," Bruce growled.

Alfred may or may not have rolled his eyes.

* * *

Amy was very close to being swept off her feet by the man she had purposefully ignored romantically all these months. Despite still feeling hurt and stung by two very different rejections, it was impossible to ignore Harry's charm. It wasn't a smarmy charm of a player, either. It was simply an ease and a worldliness about his manner that made everything delightful. There was an old-world courtliness about the way he moved and spoke to her that was simple yet very sweet.

Harry was easy to be around, Amy found. He was comfortable in his own skin, didn't need to show off like Bruce did, and certainly was not as uptight as the Batman. She felt relaxed in his company, and she enjoyed talking with him about their mutual interests.

"You look lovely," Harry had said with a warm, genuine smile that creased the corners of his deep blue eyes. The touches of grey at his temples made him looked very distinguished, as did his tuxedo. There was nothing untoward in his compliment, just respectful admiration. He held out his hand to help her into his car – a luxurious but unostentatious Mercedes.

"Thank you," Amy replied as she slipped in the car. He started up the engine and set a leisurely pace across the city.

"I'm so glad you could make it with me on such short notice," he said, smiling as he watched the road.

"I'm glad, too," Amy said, actually meaning it a little bit.

"I've been meaning to ask you what you thought about Jo Peterson's interpretation of the Temple's sacred geometry and its link to the geometric patterns in Voodoo."

"Well, first of all…." And they were off, talking animatedly, debating and laughing so much that Amy was shocked when they actually arrived at the tall building downtown where the party was. The drive had seemed so short.

Harry helped her out of the car, and he left his arm very lightly wrapped around her waist, something that she found she liked rather than not. She liked the way he would glance down at her and catch her eyes to share a quick smile with her. She liked the way his hand rested on the curve of her hip – possessive but not disrespectful in the least.

All of these little gestures helped buoy her when she realized exactly what building they were in and exactly what penthouse they were going to.

"Oh crap!" she exclaimed in a harsh whisper. "This is Bruce Wayne's building."

"What's wrong with that?" Harry asked, pulling her a little closer to him and resting his lips against the swirled mass of her hair up in a messy bun.

"Bruce and I…um…"

"Oh yes, I forgot," he murmured. "Bruce was an idiot and let you slip away. Just yesterday, too, wasn't it?"

Amy nodded miserably, allowing herself to lean against Harry as he held her comfortingly. They stepped into the elevator.

"Don't worry too much," Harry said, turning and cradling her face in his hands. "There will be many guests, and we don't have to stay long. And I won't be letting you out of my sight."

"Thanks," Amy said, smiling weakly. He leaned in and gently pressed his lips to her forehead.

"I would leave right now with you," he added apologetically. "But I have to admit I'm really quite curious as to what this voodoo-themed party is all about."

"Me, too," she agreed without adding her reason why.

The elevator doors slid open, and he wrapped his arm around her waist again while she smiled up at him and received another light kiss on the tip of her nose. How could a girl not fall for this? How could she ever have fallen for a billionaire criminal or freak vigilante?

She smiled brilliantly up at Harry to disguise the pang in her heart.

* * *

Elevator door opened. Guests. Quick look out the corner of the eye. Judge Nichols and his wife. Eleanor Nichols. Let Alfred give them a cocktail first before he worked his way over.

The band was tuning their instruments. He'd watch them carefully this time. And this time, they wouldn't leave before he'd had a chance to talk with them.

Elevator door opened again. Guests. Quick look out the corner of the eye.

What?

He turned fully from the woman he had been talking to and stared hard at the two people who had just entered. He had to make sure he was seeing straight.

Henri Ducard – Ras al'Ghul – alive and well, apparently, had just walked in with his arm around Amy Curtis, who was looking up at giving him a smile that was…was…that should have been meant for him, dammit! And what was she doing with him? Didn't she have any better sense? How could she? Did she have some kind of death wish?

He took a quick, deep breath and forced his mind to focus. Laser sharp now. Amy didn't know who Henri Ducard was, most likely. Henri was using her, playing her and setting her up as bait for him. He'd find out later how Henri survived, but that didn't matter now. Get Amy away from Henri, find out what Henri was up to, stop him.

Deliberately, he swaggered over to them, plastering a tipsy smile on his face.

He almost lost control when he realized that Amy was wearing a new dress – that she had bought a new dress to go out on a date with this man! Was there anything more insane than the flesh-colored silk that hugged her body and slinked off her shoulders? And was she wearing make-up? Her heartbeat was fast, color in her cheeks. Pleasure. She felt pleasure in Henri Ducard's presence in a way she never had in his.

He ground his teeth as he smiled even wider.

Henri smiled in return, though for an instant, it seemed that he hesitated to take his eyes off Amy.

"Mr. Wayne, thank you so much for extending your invitation to the Religious Studies Department at Gotham," Henri replied smoothly. "Harry Duckler, visiting professor. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Bruce shook hands, still smiling, though the smile didn't reach his eyes. So that's how this was to be played. Strangers meeting. Amy didn't know. Good. Trump card for him. He had to get Amy away – just for five minutes.

"A pleasure," Bruce ground out, trying to sound light-hearted. He switched his gaze to Amy and saw that she was looking away and looking very uncomfortable. "Amy," he said more softly.

"Um, hi," she replied, throwing him a quick glance and looking away again. She looked uncomfortable. "Listen, I'm sorry. I didn't realize the party was here. We won't be staying long."

"No," he said gently, ducking his head to catch her eyes. "Stay as long as you like. I mean it."

Her eyes flickered back to him, and he was struck by how hard she looked at him. Intense, curious, wary. Measuring him. Measuring his words. Looking for meaning. Alfred was right. She thought he was still a killer or a criminal.

Damn.

She nodded brusquely at him. Eyes dilated. Uncertain. Maybe willing to listen. Get her out on the balcony. Five minutes. Two minutes. All he needed. Distract Henri.

He gestured for them to join the guests and mingle. He watched as they worked their way through the sumptuous buffet of Cajun delicacies. Henri ate quite a bit. Amy's appetite was less. At the bar. Henri drank nothing. Two bourbons for her. Eyes feverish. Looking around. She was looking for something. A clue, a prompt, anything.

Bruce kept up his light banter with his other guests while his attention was riveted on Henri and Amy.

It looked like he was about to get his chance. Henri's cell phone rang, and he excused himself out on to the terrace. Bruce could see that Henri still kept an eye on Amy, but there was nothing he could do now.

Instantly, he was at Amy's side.

"We need to talk," he whispered.

"I don't think so," she whispered in reply, clutching at her third bourbon.

"Please, Amy," he begged. "This is really important."

"I'm sorry, but I can't imagine what you might have to say to me that was important."

"Trust me."

"No."

"Too bad, you're coming with me," he growled, still pretending to smile for his guests, as he wound his arm around her waist in an iron grip and ushered her away from Henri's furious gaze.

Bruce brought her into his bedroom, the one private place in his penthouse where they could talk. He didn't release her waist, and in fact, he wrapped his other arm around it. It felt so good to hold her again, to feel her lithe body in his arms, safe and where she belonged.

"Bruce, let me go," Amy snarled, putting her drink down on his nightstand and using both free hands to push against him.

"Amy, listen to me," he said, holding her more securely. "You have to trust me on what I'm about to tell you. Stay away from Harry Duckler. He is dangerous. You have no idea what he is capable of doing."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because I have been part of some of the bad things he has done," he said with a sigh.

Those words froze her, just like he knew they would. She stopped struggling against him and looked up at him, her eyes wide as if all her worst fears had just been confirmed, which they had.

"I'm different now, Amy," he whispered, lowering his head to hers, staring deeply into her eyes. "I need you to trust me on this. I don't want you to get hurt."

"I can take care of myself," she murmured, but the animosity in her voice was muted.

He wanted to say yes she could. He wanted to say no she couldn't. He wanted to tell her that he was going to take care of her whether she liked it or not. He wanted to…

He kissed her.

Cupping her jaw with one hand, he tilted her face up so that his lips could lock onto hers, kissing her fiercely, urgently, hungrily, as if willing all the truth he could not tell her into this kiss.

He heard her gasp when their lips first met, and her body tensed as she decided whether to fight him or respond. A surge of anger, possessiveness and longing welled up with him, and he jerked her off her feet to hold her up against him with just one arm as he continued to kiss her. He would make her respond.

And respond she did. Tentatively at first, but soon, her arms wound around his neck, and she opened her mouth to his. It was like throwing a match into a pool of gasoline. His hunger took over, and he crushed her against him. There was a split second decision for him to make – the bed or the wall. He turned and backed her against the wall, bracing her against it with his own body, giving his hands freedom to begin exploring her curves, sliding one hand down her waist to her hips and along the outside of her thigh until it came to the crook of her knee. He grabbed it and hitched it up around his waist.

Nothing had ever been like this. None of the models, the actresses, the socialites, the heiresses, the executives, the debutantes – or their mothers. Nobody had ever felt like this to him before. She was like liquid love in his arms, everything he had ever wanted right there in his grasp.

This was different than before. There were no games in this moment, no stratagems or counter-plots. Just Bruce and Amy.

"Amy!"

She jerked violently in his arms at the sound of Henri Ducard's anguished voice. Bruce met her eyes, and he saw that everything had instantly changed, yet again. She glared at him, humiliated and furious, mistrust written on every feature. She pushed against him violently, and he gently set her down and let her go.

She shouldered her way past him, but not before he caught a glimpse of angry tears in her eyes. She pushed past Henri as well, trying to fight her way to the elevator.

Henri turned to Bruce, his eyes narrowed to a slit of hatred.

"Stay away from her," he growled. "She's mine now. You put her in danger and threw her away. I'm protecting her now. She deserves better than you."

He spun on his heel and disappeared into the crowd, obviously going after Amy.

Bruce stared after them both, struggling to control his ragged breath and trying to take in everything that had just happened. He had never heard such a tone before in Henri Ducard's voice, not even when he had spoken of his dead wife. Could it be that Ras al'Ghul was in love? How was he going to save Amy from Ras al'Ghul? How could he stop the League of Shadows and save the houn'gan of the Ancien Quartier? How could he ever win Amy's trust back?

It was as if he could hear Alfred's voice in his head: "One gazelle, two lions. Never a good situation."

* * *

**A/N: Again, sorry for the delay, but an extra long chapter to make up for it :) Now then, we have ourselves quite a dilemma, don't we? Is Ducard really in love with Amy? Will Amy ever be able to trust Bruce? And what does the Batman _really_ think about all this? Oh, and don't forget the big question of why on earth is the League of Shadows interested in exterminating Voodoo practitioners in the Ancien Quartier? Stay tuned - same Bat Story, same Bat Channel!**

**Yours in mischief,**

**Kate September  
**


	12. Chapter 12

"Amy, wait!" Harry Duckler's anguished voice called after her as she forced her way through the thick crowds now enjoying the band. The music was in full swing, and she paused involuntarily, but not because of his call, but rather because of the musicians and the old man who was looking straight at her.

He smiled at her, his gaze riveted to her despite the fact that she was sure he couldn't see her through those filmy eyes. His smile revealed a jack-o-lantern mouth of uneven, missing, yellow teeth, some of the remaining ones filed to sharp points.

The musicians were jamming, twisting bright Dixieland jazz with darker strands of dissonant notes and Congolese rhythms. The old man sang, but his words were nonsense syllables – or at least, that's how they sounded to everyone else. But Amy knew better. The nonsense sounds were Creole corruptions of old African and Native American chants, prayers uttered during human possession by the _loa_, or spirits.

She had heard songs like this many, many times, both in Port-au-Prince and New Orleans, but this reminded her of the more savage, rougher music played in the hinterlands of the deep South and up in the hills of Haiti. This was the real incantation, and the fact that all these guests were swaying in time with it, moving in jerky dance movements showed that they were becoming as entwined and entranced by it as any Voodoo devotee who twisted and jumped to the music of the ceremonial drums.

But the music had a different effect on her. It snapped her out of the strange emotional state she had been in since the night before, when the Batman had abandoned her. It pushed him, Bruce (oh God, what had she done?), and Harry all to the back of her mind. There was still a murderer out there. A bokor killing the spiritual servants of the people in the Ancien Quartier, a new bizango in town, and now something called the League of Shadows and Ra's al Ghul to deal with. No more of this silly emotional stuff. She could sort that out later. She had a job to do.

She was just setting her jaw and reaching this conclusion when Harry caught up to her. Gently, he took her in his arms and turned her to look up at him. His expression was sorrowful but gentle and almost pleading.

"Harry, I'm so sorry," she began to say, but he cut her off by putting his finger to her lips.

"Shh, it's not your fault," he said softly, even smiling a little. "Bruce Wayne is used to getting what he wants, and he can be quite…persuasive."

She frowned a little at the reminder that Harry and Bruce knew each other, and she remembered Bruce's warning about Harry, and his own admission of having been part of the bad things Harry had allegedly done.

"Go ahead and get the car," she muttered to Harry, trying to muster up a smile for him. "I have to do one thing, then I'll be down."

"What do you have to do?" Harry asked with a frown.

Amy shook her head. She couldn't risk involving Harry in this bad business. It was too dangerous, and no matter what he had done in the past, she didn't want to see him dead because he got in the way of some bloodthirsty bizango.

"Just go get the car. I have to ask someone a question. I'll be down in just a minute."

"I don't want to leave you here alone."

She was torn between irritation that he wouldn't just do as she asked and gratitude for him caring about her and worrying about her.

"Seriously? Harry? The sooner you go, the sooner I'll be back with you."

"What is it you need to do?" he persisted, a strange, steely edge to his voice now.

"It's a _female_ thing, okay?" she hissed, secretly pleased with her spur-of-the-moment idea, counting on the natural male reaction of ew-don't-tell-me-anything-more when it came to matters feminine.

And it worked.

Harry seemed surprised, but looked a bit sheepish and turned to leave. She watched him until he had disappeared into the elevator, then she ran over to the caterer, who was checking on the buffet table. He was a large, black man who carried the air and dignity of an artist with him.

"Excuse me," Amy said breathlessly. "Do you know who the band is?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't," he said, pressing his lips into a disapproving thin line. He seemed to hesitate, and then added, "and I don't particularly like them, either."

"Why?" she asked, seizing on what seemed to be his instinctual dislike.

"They're singing some bad juju right there. It isn't right to do that here, at a party."

"Why do you think they're doing it?"

"I don't know, but I don't intend to stick around and find out. I'll be hiding in the kitchen if you need anything else," the caterer said with an apologetic smile and walked away.

Amy was just about to go find Alfred to ask who the band was when she felt an arm slip around her waist. She turned, not surprised, to see herself face-to-face with Bruce Wayne.

"Amy, listen to me," he began, but she cut him off.

"No way. You said that before and look what happened."

"I'm sorry about that. I thought…that you…you were, uh, liking it, and…"

"Never mind about that. Listen, I've got to go. I need to find Alfred, then I've gotta get out of here." She was privately amazed at the way she was able to keep her emotions so tightly bottle up, even though his arms around her were rekindling the sparks and flames in her body that had just been starting to cool down.

"What's going on? Are you in trouble?" There was concern in his voice, but also a new edge to it that sent shivers down her spine.

She gave him a long, searching look, trying to find some way, some reason to trust him. He still carried all the baggage of her suspicions of him being the mastermind behind the murders. Maybe he was Ra's al Ghul? The thought, which had just popped into her mind, was like switching on a light bulb for her. Now she understood everything. It all made sense.

Harry was waiting for her, and he'd come back up if she took any longer. She couldn't put him harm's way, but she couldn't let Bruce Wayne slip out of her grasp. He had broken up with her that morning, but he had kissed her that evening, and therein lay her chance.

She steeled herself mentally, praying for strength and self-control. Deliberately, she let herself relax into his arms, noting the reflexive way they moved to hold her more gently instead of restraining her. She cupped his face in her hands and looked up at him, putting all of her uncertainty and just a little tiny bit of her attraction into what she hoped was a sweet, uncertain, beguiling look.

His face froze, and she had never seen anything like it before. It was as if he had almost paralyzed his muscles to keep from showing any emotion or any indication of what he was thinking or feeling. Still, she thought that in and of itself was a hopeful sign.

She went up on her tip-toes and brought her lips to his in a kiss that was as soft and uncertain as she looked. Unlike the urgent, punishing kisses he had demanded from her earlier, this was slower, gentler, more sensuous than passionate. But it triggered the same intense response from him. He held her to his body, deepening their kiss right there, on the dance floor in front of all his guests, but only she could hear the faint moan rumbling in his chest as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pressed into her as if he could melt into her.

Amy was struggling with every last ounce of reason she had left to hold onto her purpose, which was to get him hot and bothered enough that he would want her to call him the next day. But every time she tried to pull away, he pulled her back and pulled her under, where she kept willingly going.

Finally, she took her hands from his face and pushed them against his chest. He broke off their kiss but didn't release her. She looked up and met his eyes, and something about the intensity of their expression frightened her. It was like a hungry wolf, but soul-hungry, heart-hungry in the most agonizing way. It almost physically hurt her to look at him.

She reached up and brushed his lips with hers one more time, then whispered, "I'll call you tomorrow."

She glanced up at his eyes and saw them tighten, as if in doubt, and she realized he might be misconstruing her words as just an offer of a date. She hastened to correct that impression.

"I _do_ need to talk to you," she added, letting her very real anxiety creep into her voice. "I think I am in trouble."

"Stay here," he whispered. "I can keep you safe here."

"I have to go, but I will call. I promise. Wait for me, Bruce."

With that, she pulled herself away from him and ran to the elevator, praying that Harry wasn't on his way back up.

**A/N: Just a quickie to keep you going! If you want an example of a nonsense syllable sone, "Iko Iko" is a good one to think of. Jazz and voodoo in New Orleans have long been linked...even Louis Armstrong did his time, sneaking into the red light districts to listen to the 'forbidden jazz.'**

**More to come for both "Spellbinding" and my new fic, "Documentary Evidence."**

**Yours in Mischief,**

**Kate  
**


	13. Chapter 13

The ride back to Amy's apartment was silent. Amy leaned her head back against the headrest and kept her eyes closed, trying to focus on her breathing, and it seemed like Harry was willing to respect that. She was so grateful for that. She had to think.

She had to find the Batman again and tell him what she had learned and her new suspicions about Bruce Wayne, but she had a sinking feeling that he wasn't about to come calling at her window any more.

In any case, things were heating up, and it was time for her to go into action in the Ancien Quartier. She'd have to go back to see Mama Bonneventure and make her reveal who the bokors were. Then, she could do something about alerting the houn'gan. Maybe together, they could collect the evidence they needed to justify getting the police involved in bringing down Bruce Wayne.

A pang shot through her as she thought about what she was going to have to do. She didn't want to do it. There was just something about him…but she would do what she had to do.

And Harry…earlier, she had thought that maybe she could pick his brains, that they could work together to solve this, but now she realized it was much too dangerous to get him involved. Why was she getting herself involved, anyway? Oh right, because a man in a bat suit asked her to help him solve the murders of innocent men. Right.

Well, one life on the line was more than enough.

Harry pulled up in front of Amy's building in the South Village. He came around and opened the door for her, helping her out, and he kept a light arm around her waist as they walked up the steps to her door.

"Harry, I…" she started to say, looking up at him and blushing.

He put his finger to her lips and smiled gently, leaning his head in toward hers. She saw the kindness in his blue eyes, the way they crinkled at the edges, the grey threaded through his hair and beard. His hands were warm and felt impossibly strong but impossible gentle as he cradled her face.

"Don't fret, Amy," he said, his English accent low and rumbling. "I'm neither hurt nor angry. My only concern is for your safety."

She smiled despite herself and put her hands on his chest. "Please don't worry about that. It's bad enough I worry about it myself everyday when I play frogger to cross 7th Avenue to get to campus."

He laughed and took one hand from her face and pulled her in closer to him. She didn't resist because she found she didn't want to. He was so sweet, so gentle. How could he be dangerous like Bruce Wayne said he was? Bruce could be gentle, too, but there was always an undercurrent of danger there, like a violence just below the surface. She didn't sense any of that with Harry.

"Still, I want you to be very, very careful around Bruce Wayne," Harry said after a moment of looking deeply into her eyes, which made her blush furiously.

"Believe me, I am," she replied sincerely, winning a broad, relieved smile from him.

He let his thumb gently trace her lips and his smile faded into a more heated look. Slowly, he lowered his head so that his lips just brushed hers, sending a shiver down her spine. He drew back and pressed his lips to her forehead, then to her surprise, pulled her in even closer and wrapped his arms around her in a tight, protective hug, kissing the top of her head.

"I don't want anything to happen to you," he murmured.

"Nothing will," she reassured him, allowing herself the absolute luxury of relaxing into his arms and resting her head against his chest. Then, the irritating thought of what she had to do still tonight crept back into her head, and reluctantly, she pulled back from him.

"I'd ask you up, but…it's been a long day for me," she said shyly.

"I shall see you tomorrow," he said with perfect grace and ease, both making her feel better and her heart miss a beat. He caught her hand as she pulled it away from his chest and placed a more passionate kiss in her palm, then closed her fingers around it and turned to leave.

Amy watched him drive off, then went inside and ran up to her apartment. She stripped off her dress and heels, flinging things to the ground and leaving them where they fell, and pulling on jeans and a t-shirt, along with her trusty messenger bag. She kicked her feet into flats and pulled her hair down from its conspicuous updo.

Grabbing her keys, she was back out the door and in her car in a flash, making good time through the empty night streets over to the Ancien Quartier. She ditched her car several blocks from the neighborhood and walked the rest of the way.

She made a beeline for Mama Bonneventure's convenience store. The door was open and the light was on – after all, it was just barely 11 p.m. She went inside and looked for the person behind the counter, but there was no one. She looked around the entire store, and no one was in the store at all. That set off all kinds of warning bells in her head, and it was with a heavy stomach that she went in to the backroom, her heart beating like a sledgehammer.

"Mama?" she whispered. "C'est moi, c'est Amy."

Carefully, crouching low and moving cautiously, she worked her way around the shelves, listening for any kind of sound, movement or breath. Finally, she made her way back to where Mama Bonneventure usually sat.

She bit her lip suddenly and very, very hard to keep from screaming. Mama Bonneventure lay on the ground, her back propped up against the wall. Her face was in a rictus of terror, and unseeing eyes looked out as if they held the gaze of a demon. Long bloody scratches marked her arms, and her fingernails were bloody.

It took a second for Amy to realize that Mama was dead, but it took another second for her to register the gruesome open wound in her stomach. Amy screamed, but no sound would come out. The only thing she could do was stare at the gaping hole ripped in Mama's gut, with blood soaking everywhere and the slimy, gory, horrific mass of innards hanging out. Then something moved in the mass of innards, and a pair of black snakes began to writhe.

She clamped both hands over her mouth – partly to stop from screaming, partly to stop from vomiting.

There was a sound behind her, and she turned to see the old man from the band, the same one who had grinned at her with his unseeing eyes, standing right behind her. Staring down at her with his filmy gaze, he smiled down at her, revealing his sharp teeth. Amy just barely had time to notice the knife before he plunged it down toward her.

She managed to miss it by a hair's breadth, ducking to the side. The old man grabbed her arm with surprising strength and slashed the knife at her again. She jerked herself to the side and lost her footing, luckily causing her to fall and miss the strike.

Quickly regaining her balance, she threw herself at her attacker, knocking him backward and landing hard on top of him. She tried to pin him down, but he easily threw her off and grabbed her by her hair. She screamed and wrenched herself out of his grasp, only to turn and see him grinning, holding a fistful of the loose hairs that had come out when she had yanked herself away.

_Shit!_ She screamed mentally. He'd use those against her. Now, he was coming toward her, walking toward her in a slow, deliberate step. She whirled around and took off running through the storeroom. She made it back to the door and found it was locked from the outside, somehow. He turned the corner and kept walking toward her.

She ducked back into the maze of shelves, trying to catch a glimpse of what was there, to see if there was anything she could use. Most of it looked like the ingredients you needed for longer, more complicated spells and rituals. Slipping around another corner, she found a bottle of red pepper powder, and she grabbed it, opening it and dumping a good quantity into her hands.

Suddenly, the man turned the corner to be standing right in front of her.

"Who are you?" she shouted.

"I am who I am," he replied in a raspy, singsong voice.

"Are you the bokor for the new bizango?"

He laughed richly, taking another step toward her. "I am what I am."

"Why are you killing the houn'gan?" she gasped.

"I'm not killing them. It's the will of Papa Legba."

"Murder is not the way of Papa Legba!" she countered.

"He must be served with both hands."

"You _are_ a bokor!"

"Never said I wasn't," he drawled, narrowing his unseeing eyes as he began to close the distance.

"I call upon the _rada_ _loa_ to protect me!" she rasped out, praying to whatever was out there.

"This ain't no peristyle, _cherie_. They ain't gonna listen to you here."

"Same goes for the _pethro loa_!"

"Nah, I serve them, they with me all the time. Now I'm done."

"What?"

"Done talkin' with you. Now you die."

He lunged for her, but she threw her fistfuls of red pepper in his face. He roared and reeled back. She turned to run away, but suddenly, he was standing right behind her, his face powdered red from the pepper, but his unseeing eyes still fixed on her.

He grinned and blew a grey dust into her eyes.

Instant agony. Her eyes were burning, on fire, like a million needles were being stuck into them. Shrieking, she stumbled back, just as she felt the swish of a knife through the air. She ran to the edge of the row, blinding clutching at the shelves, then she threw all her weight against it, causing it to fall over, and from the sound of it, crash down on the man.

Blindly, she groped for the door, and finding it, tried it again. It was locked. She reached around for anything she could use, finally finding a broom. She jabbed the handle at the doorknob again and again, but she couldn't see where she was aiming and the blows landed harmlessly. She could hear the man stirring under the shelving, and she thought she was going to lose her mind from the pain in her eyes.

Suddenly, the door was violently kicked open, knocking her backwards, but before she could fall, a strong pair of gloved hands caught her. She was swept up in a hard pair of arms, and all she could care about at that moment was trying not to scream from the agony, the burning and the stabbing in her eyes.

She was aware of her body being shifted so that the arm was around her waist, and a swift, gut-jerking upward motion. She felt ground beneath her feet again, but a light breeze told her she must be on a roof top.

"Are you okay?" the growl was fierce and urgent.

"My eyes," she whispered, her voice teetering on the edge of screaming.

"Don't move, don't make a sound," he warned. "I'll be back."

Amy curled up on the ground into an agonized little ball, her hands pressed to her eyes, trying to hold her breath in order not to scream.

* * *

As fast as he moved, he felt like it wasn't enough. He ran back through the storeroom, saw an old woman's mutilated body and the snakes. He saw the over-turned shelf, but didn't see anyone else there. He'd have to talk to Gordon about this.

But not now.

Moments later, he was back on the roof, running to Amy's side. He savagely ripped open a bottle of saline solution and began pouring it over her eyes. Her face was contorted with pain, and she seemed nearly senseless. He doused her entire head and face with a gallon of spring water, carefully using the edge of his cape to wipe away traces of the dust which had left angry red spots on her skin. He drowned her eyes in water and several more bottles of saline. He then stuck her with the emergency low-dose of morphine that he kept with him, in case he was ever wounded but needed to be able to move through the pain.

He felt like he could finally breathe again when she seemed to relax a little…though it was more like sagging into his arms, limp from the exhaustion of agony.

"What happened?" he whispered, unable to keep himself from tenderly pushing back the now-wet strands of hair from her face.

Her eyes were red and almost swollen shut, but she turned her face a little towards him and looked up into his eyes. He'd kill the bastard who did this to her, rules or no rules.

"I'm…I…I'm scared," she whispered, trembling and clutching at his shoulder and breastplate. She was absolutely white, and he realized that she might be going into shock. Quickly, he wrapped her in his arms and cradled her against him while she shook, tears pouring from her eyes. He let her cry – it would help wash out all the bad stuff, and they were relatively safe for the moment on this rooftop.

He didn't cease his vigilance, but he allowed himself to experience every sensation of holding Amy and comforting her. She began to shiver uncontrollably, and he wrapped his cape around them, wishing for a moment that his body armor wasn't in the way of his body heat.

"Hang on, I'll get you somewhere safe," he said as comfortingly as his growl would permit him.

"P-p-police," she stammered through her quiet sobs. "H-have to let them know! And he's still out there!"

"Don't worry, it's all taken care of," he said, swinging her up into his arms and launching off the roof. He landed them on the sidewalk and carried her to the Tumbler. He turned on the heat full blast for her sake and kept her hand in his so she could have some contact. He felt a stab of anger and grief as she curled herself into as small a ball as she could on the seat and not just held his hand, but clutched at his forearm for comfort.

As fast as he could, he drove through the streets of Gotham. He was trying to decide where to take her. Her apartment was out of the question, as was his. The industrial bunker where he kept his gear wasn't designed for…guests. Then he remembered the perfect place.

Bruce Wayne had his own, private entrance to the Gotham Grand Hotel, which included his own private elevator. No lock or key card necessary. Only way in was biometric identification.

He carried Amy, who was now passing in and out of consciousness, into the elevator and then through the private foyer into Bruce Wayne's penthouse suite.

Unlike his residential penthouse, the hotel penthouse was in keeping with the hotel's ornate, luxurious decoration. There were lots of velvets, gilt wood, draperies, inlaid floors, Persian rugs, marble, chandeliers and other sybaritic luxuries all around.

Batman carried her into the bedroom where he gently laid her down on the bed. He slipped off her flats, almost smiling at how small her shoes looked in his hands.

As he stepped back, she seemed to stir. Her swollen eyes fluttered, and her hands reached out for him.

"Don't go!" she whispered. "Please, for the love of God, don't go!"

He took her hands again and knelt down by her bed. He was unused to having this much personal contact with anybody when he was the Batman. Yet, it seemed so natural, almost necessary, with Amy.

"Don't be scared," he said, stroking her hair. "You'll be safe. I won't let anything happen to you."

"I have to tell you what I saw and what I discovered," she rasped. "It's really important!"

He nodded, then realized she might not be able to see that. "Go on."

"I think the man who sings in the band is the bokor who is killing the houn'gan. I'm pretty damn sure he killed…oh God….oh God…" she broke, trying to fight off panicked breath. "That…he killed Mama Bonneventure. I think he poisoned her."

"What about the stomach wound?"

Amy shook her head, hunching herself against the memory. He couldn't help himself. He sat down on the edge of the bed and took Amy in his arms, seating her in his lap. Immediately, she wrapped herself around him, still shaking slightly, but at least her breathing grew steadier.

"He had to have poisoned her first. She died in agony, clawing at herself. The stomach wound was probably done post-mortem."

"The snakes?"

"Stage-dressing to reinforce the rumor that black magic is taking over or something like that. Scare tactics."

"Did he say anything about the bizango?"

"No, but I think I figured it out."

"Tell me."

"The bizango is this weird League of Shadows group you mentioned. I couldn't find anything about them, but it's the only thing that makes sense."

He waited. He knew that.

"And my guess is that this Ra's al Ghul is the head of the League of Shadows. We still have to figure out what he wants with the Ancien Quartier and why Voodoo."

"Leave that to me."

"No."

"I'm not arguing with you."

"I'm not arguing with you," Amy replied equally firmly, squirming herself even closer to him. "You're the only one I trust and the only one I feel safe with. If you think you're going anywhere without me, you're wrong."

"I'm going to find a safe place for you to hide out until this is all over."

"That won't do any good. Not with Ra's al Ghul after me."

"You think he is?"

"I know he is."

"Did he say anything?"

"He didn't have to."

"What do you mean?"

"When a man kisses a woman like Bruce Wayne kissed me at the party tonight, you know that he's not about to give up."

Maybe he had missed something there. The words weren't tracking correctly in his head. "You mean?"

"I think that Bruce Wayne is Ra's al Ghul."

* * *

**A/N: Gotcha! If I gotcha, or even if I didn't , please leave me a wee itty bitty review. They're like a drug to me and make me want to write more and more and more and more...also, check out my other Batman fic, "Documentary Evidence." Thank you again for reading! It's just the most thrilling sensation to know that people out there are reading what I write and for the most part like it!**

**Back to writing!**

**Yours in Mischief,**

**Kate  
**


	14. Chapter 14

Amy woke with a start and stared blankly around her. She wondered where she was. It felt like she had fallen asleep in a museum or a palace because she simply couldn't place all the luxurious European-style furniture and elegant surroundings.

Then, she blinked her eyes and realized how painful they were, and everything came back to her, including the way the Batman had simply pinched something in her neck after she had revealed to him that Bruce Wayne was Ra's al Ghul, knocking her unconscious. He must have actually tucked her into bed as well, because as she sat up and looked down, she realized that she was snuggly under the covers, something she never did at home. Speaking of home, she decided it was best she get back there as soon as possible. She had no idea where she was or to whom these rooms belonged, but she sure as hell didn't want to stay around and find out. For a split second she toyed with the idea that they belonged to the Batman, but she realized just how ridiculous that was.

She was about to get out of bed and head to the bathroom to wash her face and rinse her eyes out when the door to the bedroom opened and in walked Bruce Wayne himself. Her jaw fell open, and she stared at him through her swollen, bleary eyes.

"Amy, are you alright?" he asked, rushing over to the side of the bed and sitting down on the edge of it, taking her hands in his. "Your eyes! What happened? What are you doing in my suite?"

An overwhelming desire to cry and just give up on this whole crazy thing washed over her, and she felt her lips tremble. She clamped them shut, shaking her head and trying to process what was happening. All she could think of was how could the Batman do this to her? He had to have known that this place belonged to Bruce Wayne. Was he in league with Bruce Wayne? Was he playing her, toying with her to throw her off the trail of the real criminal partnership that was Bruce Wayne and the Batman? Was there anywhere she was safe? Anyone she could trust?

The image of Harry rose up before her eyes, but she couldn't let that happen. Harry was innocent in this game. She would not put his life in danger.

She felt Bruce hands gently cradle her face, then slip down to encircle her waist as he helped her out of bed. He supported her as she wobbled to the bathroom, the pain in her eyes making her dizzy and nauseous. She was feeling too ill to protest when he lifted her up to sit on the counter and wet a soft wash cloth, pressing it gently against her eyes.

The way he was so gentle and almost tender with her was her undoing, and she couldn't hold it in any more. She began to cry, quietly at first, but then more intensely with sobs shaking her body. It didn't help that Bruce put the cloth aside and wrapped her in his arms, holding her tightly to his chest and murmuring comforting words in her ear. She tried to resist being comforted by him, but she was just too distraught and overwhelmed by everything and finally gave in, winding her arms around his neck and burying her face against him.

He smelled so good and felt so solid, and she was so scared and tired of being scared of everything and everyone. She didn't want to let go, and he didn't seem to want to let her go, either. For what seemed a very long time, he simply stood there, holding her closely and stroking her hair as she cried. Finally, her sobs slowed down, and she let herself rest against him limply. He kissed the top of her head, which almost brought on a fresh wave of tears, but she was more successful this time in holding back.

What was she going to do? What was the next step? She scolded herself about pulling it back together and just facing what she had to face and dealing with it. She had gotten herself into this mess, and only she could get herself out of it.

As if sensing that she was calmer now, Bruce picked up the cloth and wet it again, putting it back on her eyes and holding it there. Amy still held onto his shirt, realizing that he wasn't wearing a suit today, just a plain cotton button-down shirt and slacks. She couldn't see it because of the cloth, but she could feel it now that she was paying attention.

"What happened to you?" he asked softly, his voice deep and raspy. She hadn't really noticed his voice before, but now she definitely noticed the smoky timbre.

"I was in the wrong place at the wrong time," she said, clearing her throat from the remainder of the tears. "What are you doing here?"

"Um, I own this suite in the hotel."

"I mean what are you doing here this morning?"

"Oh. I, uh, received a message."

"A message?"

"Yeah. A note saying I should come here."

"Who left the note?"

There was a silence, and she wished she could see his expression, but the cloth was pressed firmly against her eyes and felt too good to give up.

"A mutual friend." His voice was barely audible.

Impossible. He couldn't really mean the Batman. The only other option was Harry, but she doubted that Bruce would have called Harry a friend, not after what he had told her about him last night. It had to be…but it was impossible…yet hadn't she just conjectured that the Batman and Bruce could be in cahoots? But why did it sit so wrong? She sighed without realizing it.

"What's the matter? Are you alright?"

"Bruce, I…" she paused, unsure of what to say. How do you tell a playboy billionaire who turns out to be a psychopathic criminal mastermind that you're suspicious of him?

"Amy, what is it?" His voice was so gentle, so soft that she felt her heart give a heavy thud against her ribs. "You can tell me. I promise I won't let anything bad happen to you ag…you're safe."

"The hell I am!" she exclaimed, angry tears threatening this time. His words unexpectedly upset her. In fact, they infuriated her. "Would you please make up your mind?" she added, pulling his hand away from her eyes so she could glare at him.

He was looking back her with a confused expression. "What do you mean?" he asked guardedly.

"I mean, would you please decide once in for all if you want me alive or dead!" she growled, glaring at him as best she could. She jumped off the counter and was hit with a wave of dizziness and a pang of nausea that made her stomach loop-de-loop.

"What? Of course I want you alive!" he said, at her side and steadying her before she could do more than totter. "What are you talking about?"

She realized that it was too late now to take anything back. She had let the cat out of the bag with her little outburst. There was no more playing dumb. If he was going to finish her off, he now had the perfect reason to do it as she obviously had showed that she knew too much. The only hope she had now was to find out as much as she could from him, then try to make an escape. She couldn't even rely on the Batman any more – not until she was sure that he wasn't part of Ra's al Ghul's sick little game. She was on her own.

It was difficult to accuse a man who was helping you walk, but it had to be done.

"Okay, here's the deal," she said, gritting her teeth at the way she had to hang on to him for balance. "If you want me alive, why did you try and poison me that night at Oshinu then bring me back to your penthouse to finish me off? Why did you bring that bokor back last night? How did you know I was coming? Why did you send him after me in the Ancien Quartier?"

Her words trailed off as she spoke her suspicions aloud. For some reason, as she said the actual words, it became clear for the first time that she couldn't actually pinpoint any one thing that he had done to try and have her killed. Her mind raced desperately, trying to sort everything out.

Bruce chuckled beside her then pulled her around to look at him.

"Amy, I don't have any idea what you're talking about," he said. "I know something happened that night at Oshinu, but I don't have a clue what it was or who did it to you. I brought you back to my place because I thought you'd be more comfortable there than in the emergency room. I have no idea what a bokor is, and I had no idea you were coming last night, after all, I had just told you that I wasn't going to see you again."

Amy felt a burning blush rising up through her ears and tried to look away, but he caught her chin and brought her face back to his. He bent his head down until their foreheads were touching. She had to close her eyes because it was too painful for her tender eyes to try and focus on him at such close range. When he spoke, she could feel his breath across her lips, and her heart gave another heavy thud.

"But I will tell you this," he whispered, his voice strangely gravelly. "If you are in trouble or some kind of danger, I will protect you with everything I've got. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. That's a fact."

"Don't!" she whispered. "Don't make a promise you can't keep. How can I trust you? After all, you're the one who told me to be careful around Harry, that he had done bad things and so had you. How can I believe you're not still doing bad things? Can you honestly tell me that you don't know anything about Ra's al Ghul?"

"I know Harry from shady weapons deals he has tried to do, that Wayne Enterprises used to be a part of. He's a dangerous man. Ruthless. But I don't know anything about the whatever-thing-ghoul you just said."

She chewed her lip, torn by indecision and gut instincts that were telling her to go in two very different directions.

* * *

Bruce sensed that she was teetering on the edge of believing him, and he knew he had this one chance to sway her, to win her trust in order to keep her safe and out of the way of all this until it was over. He decided to use the one weapon he knew worked on her.

He caught her lips with his, softly and gently, holding her around the waist with one arm and cradling her face with his free hand. Her quiet little gasp was like a pure shot of desire through his own body, driving him to deepen his kiss, grabbing a fistful of her hair but careful not to pull it.

He hated to lie to her, but he felt he had no choice if he was going to protect her from herself. She had to be able to trust someone in this mess. She trusted the Batman, but now he needed her to trust him as Bruce Wayne. That was the only way he could protect her day and night.

Those thoughts drifted to the back of his mind and very little took its place as he found himself getting lost in kissing her. He was getting drunk with kissing her, and his body, which had been on fire since the night before when he had first taken her in his arms, was making demands.

Finally, he felt her relent slightly, giving in to his kiss, opening to him to allow him to taste her. For the first time since taking on the mantle of the beast at night, he felt an urge that was stronger than his rage. This need for her, for her body, for her everything…this was primal, deeper than anger, sharper than vengeance, stronger than hate. A small voice tried to reason with him, tried to make him stop, but it was weak and weary. There was no rational argument he could make at that moment that would stand up to the onslaught of his desire. He wanted her. Period.

Tightening his grip around her waist, he lifted her off the ground and walked toward the bed. He gently lay her down on it, breaking his kisses only to take in quick gasps of air. He positioned himself over her, lowering himself on his elbows just enough that he could feel the length of her body against his. His free hand began to follow the curves of her waist and hips, and he felt her body arch and twist in response to his touch. He couldn't help but gloat, knowing that he could make her respond like that.

In fact, she didn't seem to mind any of this. Given the way she had begun to kiss him back and wind her arms around his neck and shoulders, she seemed to want to be with him as much as he wanted to be with her. Wordlessly, he slipped his hand tentatively under her t-shirt, relishing the touch of his fingers against the smooth, warm skin of her belly. She gasped into his kiss, and moved her hands quickly to the buttons of his shirt, tugging at them in frustration when they didn't obey quickly enough.

His body was heating up against hers, and he was quickly approaching a point where there would be no going back. The beast and its desire would take full control, and there would be no choice for either of them. He groaned when her warm hands slid the cloth of his shirt open and down his arms. He shrugged it off as she pulled at it.

It wasn't enough. With a growl, he yanked up her t-shirt, roughly pulling it over her head, revealing her surprisingly little lacy bra to his greedy eyes. His lips left her mouth and began to move down her neck and over the swells of her breasts.

Her fingers began to fumble with his belt and the buttons of his pants, and he eagerly returned the favor, easily unzipping her jeans with practiced hands. Her hips thrust up against his, and he nearly lost it right then and there. Instead, with his last shred of control, he pulled her up into a sitting position, her legs wrapped around his waist as he sat up, kneeling on the mattress.

As his hands stroked her flesh insatiably, she ran her fingers through his hair, kissing him as urgently as he was kissing her. His hands worked their way up her back to her bra, roughly pulling the straps down off her shoulders and unhooking it in the back. He left it in place, wanting to savor the moment longer, letting it be a barrier between them for just a little more before he began the next assault on her clothing.

Her little moans of urgent pleasure drove him wild, the beast howling to come out and claim what was his. He slid one of his hands inside the waist of her jeans, slipping past what felt like lacy little underthings to the smooth, round flesh of her bottom. He hitched her up against him, letting her get a feel for exactly what she was up against, literally.

Her hands moved hungrily from his hair down his back, slowing and tracing every scar. It was an infinitesimal change, but he felt it when the questions began to form in her mind.

He could have roared with frustration as he realized that this was not good, that if she found out more about his scars, she'd have questions, and her questions were exactly the right wrong questions to ask. Her touches slowed and became more cautious, investigative and less like a lover's caress. In this state, he brain was so addled, he worried he might just give everything away, and instinct told him that if he revealed everything to Amy now, he'd lose her…for good.

As gently as he could manage, which wasn't very much, he lowered her down from his waist to sit on the bed. He grabbed his shirt and stepped down from the bed, keeping his front towards her.

"Wha-what?" she asked dazedly, and it was all he could do to keep from jumping back in the bed and finishing what he had started. Her desire-heavy eyes were confused, and her lips swollen from his kisses. She clutched at the bra to hold it in place, as it still hung loosely off her shoulders and back. Her jeans were undone and pulled halfway down her hips, and everything about her, from her breath to her scent, beckoned to him like opium to one who would chase the dragon.

He wanted to whine like the dog he felt he was. His body was still on fire and still demanding this woman. The frustration he felt teetered on the edge of violence, and he grit his teeth.

"Did I do something?" she asked in a small voice.

"No," he said breathlessly, pulling on his shirt. "No, you didn't do anything."

"Then, you decided you didn't want me?"

"God no!" he exclaimed, wincing inwardly as he saw her shrinking back into herself, backing away emotionally from him to keep from getting more hurt. She was the thing he wanted most, and here he was, making her feel as if she wasn't good enough. No matter what he said, he knew that the simple act of leaving her arms spoke louder than any words.

"I just realized that this wasn't a good time," he added lamely. "It seems like you're in danger, and keeping you safe has to be our first priority."

He died a little on the inside as he saw her expression grow cold and blank as she completely withdrew from him.

"Of course." Her voice was flat and unemotional.

He felt desperate for her, and he felt like a jackass for letting this all get too far too quickly because of his lack of self-control. That's what he was, an undisciplined, desperate jackass.

"Please, please try to understand," he pleaded with her, trying to be inconspicuous about buttoning up his shirt and tucking it in. "I need to make sure you're safe, and I just let things get out of control, and I'm sorry about that. It's not what I wanted to have happen at all."

He felt his encrypted phone ring in his trouser pocket, and he grabbed it before the vibrations could do any more damage to him.

"Look, just stay here. Stay here until I send Alfred for you. We'll get you somewhere safe."

"I'm not safe in this suite?" He shuddered at the cold, clinical tone to her voice.

"No, you're not safe anywhere that's associated with Bruce Wayne," he said. "Just give me a little time to figure something out. I promise I'll keep you safe, and then once you're safe, we can…can…talk about things."

She gave him a long, measuring look, then nodded. He was relieved to see how reasonable she was, despite her obvious disappointment.

"Don't open the door for anyone, and don't go anywhere until Alfred comes for you, okay?" he said, darting forward to kiss her on the cheek, flinching inwardly as she didn't move or respond in any way.

"I'll see you soon," he said, running out the door. He hit the stairwell and was gone.

* * *

Amy stared at the door for a moment, then calmly stood up, re-hooked her bra and pulled on her t-shirt. She put on her shoes and grabbed her bag. Then, calmly, coolly, she walked out of the suite and into the elevator, taking it to the lobby and walking out the front door.

* * *

A/N: Well, that was a little bodice-ripping interlude that I hadn't exactly planned on, but seems like Bruce and Amy had other things in mind. Will this drive her back into Harry's arms? Will she ever trust the Batman again? Will she ever forgive Bruce for his lies? Will Bruce ever learn that he can trust Amy with his secrets? Oh, and don't forget questions like what is going on with the bokor and the League of Shadows? What do they want from each other?

Stay tuned! Same Bat Channel, same Bat Story!

Yours in Mischief,

Kate


	15. Chapter 15

Amy stood blinking in the sunlight, trying to do about seventy-three things at once.

She wanted to figure out if she loved or hated Bruce Wayne, and if there was really any difference between the two options. She wanted to understand why the Batman had brought her here, of all places. She wanted to know what Bruce and Harry Duckler had done together that was so shady in the past. She wanted to forget the murder of Maman Bonneventure. She wanted to make a decision about where would be the safest place for her to go now.

She checked her phone, only to find the battery was dead. Of course it was. Nothing was going to be easy this morning.

"Taxi!" she yelled, flagging one down and dashing up the block to meet it. "The Bunker by Gotham University."

She focused most of her taxi ride on keeping her pounding brain between her ears. Thinking hurt. A lot of things hurt at that moment, but she wasn't quite ready to deal with them. Not until she was fortified.

The Bunker was a pub that had opened its doors somewhere in the late 1950's, proclaiming itself to be a haven for radicals and a mecca for underage drinking. Professors, beards, bell-bottoms, rock legends and raging sophomores had all passed through there over the years, leaving a thin emotional patina like the permanently beer-sticky floor. Nowadays, most people just noticed the old Soviet propaganda folders and the cheesy Cold War do-it-yourself nuclear fallout bunker kit advertisements on the walls.

The thing that made The Bunker a nearly perfect place in Amy's eyes at that moment was that firstly, she had never been there, so no one would be looking for her there, and secondly, they started serving at ten in the morning.

"Hey," said a bored hipster behind the bar. "What can I get you?"

"Whiskey," replied Amy. "Make it a double. Neat."

* * *

Bruce sat down to the super computer in his...workshop? Batcave? It never occurred to him to call his lair anything in particular. Maybe it was a bunker. A bat bunker.

He huffed out a disgusted breath and tried to focus on searching out Henri Ducard's new alias of Harry Duckler. Of course there was nothing but a squeaky clean and rather impressive education and career in academia.

"Good morning, Master Wayne," Alfred said, his voice gratingly cheerful. "And, how was our night?"

"Oh, you know. Murder. Mayhem. The usual."

"There's a bit of an article in the paper this morning about the murder last night in the Ancien Quartier. Seems to be that this one was particularly gruesome."

"It was."

"What does Dr. Curtis think?"

"What makes you think Amy was involved or that I saw her last night?"

Alfred gave him a disparaging look and put a thermos down on the desk beside Bruce's elbow.

"Have a nice cuppa and tell me all about it," he said.

* * *

Harry Duckler stood in Amy Curtis' living room, his heart pounding in his chest.

She wasn't there. Her bed hadn't been slept in. There was no answer from her cell phone.

Had she been where she wasn't supposed to be last night?

The question ricocheted around his head. He hadn't really meant to fall in love with her. He had only wanted to keep her from interfering and guessing too much before his plan came to fruition. Somehow, though, she had managed to touch him in a way no one else had for a very, very long time.

His heart thudded painfully against his ribs. He would go check her office at the university, and after that...he'd go to Bruce Wayne's penthouse.

No matter what it took, he was going to keep Amy safe - safe from him and safe from Bruce Wayne.

* * *

A/N: Oh dear. A very short chapter after such a long absence. However, I felt I needed to sort offset up where the characters are and what they are feeling. I make no promises for regular posting, but this story has been yelling at me for over a year now. Can you imagine having Amy, Bruce, Alfred and Henri all yelling at you at the same time?

Life has been strange and difficult, but I am soldiering on, and not giving up, so don't give up on me!

Yours in mischief,

Kate September


	16. Chapter 16

Amy rang Harry Duckler's front door buzzer and felt a pang of tipsy trepidation yo-yo in her stomach. Things seemed very odd. It was only 2:30 in the afternoon, but she was absolutely half-in-the-bag. Or maybe three-quarters. And, she had decided that she needed help from someone, and so far, Harry Duckler, despite Bruce's warning, was the only person in this mess who hadn't betrayed her or tried to kill her. That had to count for something.

The front door was yanked open, and Harry's shocked and concerned face looked down at her.

"My God, Amy!" he exclaimed. "What has happened to you? Quick, come in here."

Before Amy could open her mouth to slur thatshewasfineitwasokay, she felt Harry's strong arm around her waist as he pulled her into the foyer of his house.

"So this is what it's like on Queen's Hill," she joked, dizzily taking in the rich oak paneling, the Persian carpets and crystal chandeliers. "Hey, you're only a visiting professor. How'd you get the money to live here?"

She got the sense that she was saying things she shouldn't and clamped her lips shut, shutting her eyes for good measure. It seemed like a good idea.

Suddenly, her legs were knocked out from under her, and she was swept up into Harry's arms. He proceeded to carry her up the townhouse's wide, winding staircase, holding her as if she were nothing more than the morning newspaper.

She must have closed her eyes again, because the next thing she knew, she was being deposited onto a bed, and he was slipping her shoes off her feet and taking the strap of her bag from around her chest.

"Amy," he said sternly. "Are you drunk?"

"Yesh," she replied equally sternly. "It seemeded like the right thing to do. Can't see entrails without needed to drink. Never could deal well with that. Even in the field. Oh God," she choked as memories popped into her head of the night before. "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!"

"Amy! Stop this. You need to stop this and breathe. Do NOT let your fear take control of you."

"Fear?" she screeched with a hysterical laugh, feeling that all this was awful and funny at the same time. "I'm way past fear. I'm past fucking panic. Past disbelief. Past every damn thing except drunk. Ish. I need to have a drink. You have no idea what I've been through."

"No, I don't, and I need you to tell me."

"Harry…oh, Harry, it was awful. She was lying there dead. Murdered. Her belly open and everything was everywhere. And then the bokor, he was there too, and he was everywhere, and then he blew gravedust in my eyes, and then I'm pretty sure the Batman tried to save me, but he doesn't know Bruce Wayne is behind the killings. He says he's not, and I kind of believe him, but who else could it be?"

She eyed Harry unsteadily, starting to feel the prickings of the stage of drunkenness where you realize how drunk you are and shame starts to set in. Harry was a good man. He didn't deserve to be trapped in this. He didn't deserve to have his life put at risk. But wait, didn't Bruce say he had dealt with Harry before? Was Harry as innocent as he seemed? Oh, how her head spun.

"I'm not sure if I want to be sick or lie down," she muttered, pushing Harry out of the way and trying to get up to stumble to the bathroom.

"Lie down," he said, his voice now a low, deep lullaby. "I'll get something to make you feel better. You'll be fine in a few hours."

"Promise?"

"Yes, Amy, I promise. I won't let anything happen to you."

"Good. Okay. Good night."

As she drifted and dropped into the heavy, rolling sleep of the drunk, she thought she felt a kiss on her forehead…and maybe she smiled.

Four hours of sleep was not enough, but Bruce willed himself awake and pushed out of bed to drop to the floor for his exercises.

He had to wake up. He had to solve this mystery before anyone else got killed…or hurt, like Amy.

Oh God, what had he done, almost seducing her? Or had he seduced her and then run away? She had been willing for everything, and he had said no. He had done it for her own good, and she had at least agreed to stay in the hotel. She would be safe, and then when this was all over, he could explain everything to her. Maybe not the Batman part. Not yet. Or maybe not ever. Maybe there would be an end to the Batman if he could finally find peace through loving a hot-tempered, brilliant blonde professor.

Wait.

Back up.

Love?

Who had said anything about love? He hadn't. No, he definitely hadn't. He liked Amy, and he'd love to get to know her more, but he would never say he loved her. No. He barely knew her. Frankly, the Batman knew her better than he did.

But wasn't he the Batman?

Not a moment too soon, Alfred entered the room, carrying the kale smoothie on a tray – holding it as far out as he could from his body as if it might bite.

"Good morning, Master Bruce," he said affably. "Or rather, good day. It's getting on for 2:30."

"That late?" Bruce exclaimed between gulps of green goodness. Okay, it was disgusting, but it was healthy. "How much have a missed?"

"Only a board meeting and a fundraising lunch, sir. Mr. Fox handled everything adequately."

"He always does," Bruce said drily.

"How is Professor Curtis this morning, sir, if I might ask?"

Bruce sighed and told Alfred everything that had happened through to leaving Amy in the hotel. He even admitted the seduction to the old man because at this point, he felt he needed all the help he could get.

"I beg your pardon, Master Wayne," Alfred said evenly after Bruce had finished. "But are you actually expecting her to still be in the hotel room this evening?"

"She said she would be," Bruce replied, lumps of dread beginning to form in the pit of his stomach.

"I believe you'll find that the hotel is the last place she'll be, sir. The young lady has a mind of her own…as well as feelings."

"Feelings? What do you mean?"

"Feelings that are probably quite hurt, Master Wayne."

"Hurt how? Why? Because I –"

"Walked out on her in a rather, ahem, delicate situation? Yes, sir, I believe that would be the reason."

"But she said it was okay. Oh, I see. It wasn't. Why didn't she say so?"

"Because, sir, she might not still fully trust you."

Bruce reeled. How could he have been so blind?

"They say sir," Alfred remarked, beginning to make the bed, "that love is blind. If you'll pardon my saying, sir, in this case, I would also add 'deaf' and 'dumb.'"

A/N: Well, minor computer catastrophe of coffee on keyboard…and not quite working all that great, plus houseguests, etc. all make for a long delay for a little chapter. I know this is more filler, but I do have a point. Somewhere. There will be action coming up. Lots of it. Intrigue? Check. Voodoo? Check. Murder? Check. Romantic entanglements? Check. Alfred witticisms? Check.

Bear with me! Thanks for reading.

Yours in mischief,

Kate September


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